


to be alive beneath cherry blossoms

by holdingbreaths



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Ghirahim has mommy issues, Hanahaki Disease, Link/Peatrice and Link/Orielle for like four paragraphs, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Sex, Sexual Content, Sickness, Unrequited Love, dying, stalker!Ghirahim, this won't be all depressing I promise please trust me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:18:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9621956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingbreaths/pseuds/holdingbreaths
Summary: The demon's curse is a cruel one: unrequited love will kill them, in a painful, slow way.Falling in love with the Chosen Hero, of all people, was not Ghirahim's smartest move.





	1. pastel pink petals against a cerulean blue sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astr0n4ughtica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astr0n4ughtica/gifts).



> Hellooooooooo lil' demons!!! Momma's back with more angsty because that's the way we roll lately.
> 
> This was supposed to be a single chapter fic. This was also supposed to be a super funny one because, hey, look at the fucking prompt, right? jinxed_gemstone was kind enough to give me this little exchange and I thought: 'How about I just ruin it by turning it in a super depressive heavy thing?'
> 
> No, really, it won't be all depressive. It will even have sex! Eventually! I swear!
> 
> I really, really hope jinxed_gemstone likes this one, and all of you as well. Please, enjoy it!!!

_“What a strange thing!_  
_to be alive_  
_beneath cherry blossoms.”_

*

Link was thinking about kissing her. Even from afar, it was obvious. It was obvious by the way he kept leaning towards her, the way he touched her fingers, her arms, her hair. He had charm, the boy. He had some self-confidence one could only forge out of being the bearer of the Triforce and the Savior of human kind.

Well, sometimes he blushed; it was noticeable from kilometers away. But that was his first girlfriend, after all, and he was just a young man. One would imagine he stuttered as well, but you can’t tell these things unless you’re close enough to hear the voices, so it wasn’t confirmed.

The main idea kept, though. He was thinking about kissing her.

*

The petals came in waves of purple and pink. Funny, he thought. They should be green. Or yellow. Yellow like Link’s hair, that would have made so much sense. Or red and white, white petals would be pure and clean and sharp, an elegant death. He loved the color white – there was no coincidence his clothes were always white.

As the petals flowed out of his throat, filling his mouth and eventually piling over the green grass on his feet, he wished they were white. He concentrated hard on it – maybe he was able to willing the flower into turning white, with enough will power and magic. He concentrated.

The very last petal to touch his lips was white, but the energy to change her color drowned his strength. Dizzy, he fell over his own vomit – it didn’t matter, there was no stomach content in it, only petals, beautiful, colorful petals, a strong and sweet scent rising from it.

*

Link kissed her for the first time just outside her father’s stupid bamboo island, in a moonless night, darkness surrounding them.

Sometimes you have to be thankful for the small mercies. He could only see their silhouettes, dark shapes against the subtle brightness of the set of three lamps hanging outside the door. He wasn’t sure he would handle the full vision of Link kissing that ugly, thin, dirty little girl.

From where he was hiding he couldn’t hear them as well. The only sounds were the bamboo leaves against the wind. Their kiss lasted forever, it seemed, longer than any kiss had the right to last. He felt tired and sick when they finally parted. It wasn’t worth it.

*

Demons didn’t love.

Not because demons didn’t want to love. You see, they were seekers of pleasure, admirers of beauty, so it would be obvious they would want to feel the desire, the happiness and joy of being in love. Feeling love was a pleasure in itself. Demons were meant to burn with it, to drown in it, always searching for the overwhelming adventure of holding your beloved between your arms.

But demons didn’t love. Not because they were unable to. All the Goddess’ creatures were able to love. They, too, were once part of her people, until they crossed the threshold unto darkness with their search for power and eternity, entering profane realms and scorching the earth with unholy magic.

Even after their fall, their hearts beat on the same cadence that any other heart, just as able to love as the most pure child of Skyloft.

But demons didn’t love.

They ran from it like it was Death itself, they avoided all signs, all possible relations that could lead to love: it made them darker, and bitter and unhappy, but it kept them alive. Not loving was a survival skill. All demons knew they should avoid falling in love, that all connections between them, physical or otherwise, could never blossom into the purest of affections. Love leads to certain death, they knew.

Their Goddess Hylia – the so called pure, sweet, merciful Goddess of the _humans_ – planted the seeds of the ultimate trap inside their hearts, condemning all demons to an unfulfilled life of misery. A loveless life. That’s why the _bitch_ deserved to die, deserved to be skinned alive: what kind of sick, horrible creature would doom its own children to fear the most cherished feeling?

Ghirahim wanted her dead, that _miserable parasite_ deserved pain.

He didn’t get to kill her. Instead, he got this. Not even vengeance could help him now.

*

Their relationship was getting colder. Ghirahim observed that their weekly dates at the Bazaar were shorter and shorter, and Peatrice – he hated that he had learned the girl’s name, that stupid, ugly name; but then again, he hated her existence – didn’t parade around Skyloft arm in arm with the Savior anymore.

The Hero, Ghirahim could see, wasn’t bringing her flowers either. Hiding on the ceiling of the closed Bazaar as Link walked her home, the demon could see they didn’t kiss goodnight nearly as often as before.

The reason might also be a girl called Orielle. She was much prettier than fucking Peatrice, Ghirahim had to admit, and awfully fond of having flying outings with the Hero. For all Ghirahim knew, Link might have already kissed her – he seemed way too happy and giddy the last time they came back from one of their flying sessions. That might be because the Hero always loved to fly, but Ghirahim was feeling frustrated – he couldn’t follow their steps when they were in the air.

It wasn’t very heroic on his part if he was cheating on Peatrice – but then again, Link wasn’t perfect. Ghirahim knew he sometimes stole small things (coins, bread, shiny rings, arrows) from all around Skyloft; was a class A masturbation expert, wanking every night without miss; knew he skipped more classes that any other knight in the Academy. A very naughty Hero, that he was.

Ghirahim felt his stomach hurt as he saw Link kissing Peatrice’s fingers and wishing her goodnight. What the hell, flower. He knew the boy wasn’t interest in his girlfriend anymore. There was no need to tremble. No need for petals. Still, a second later Ghirahim coughed up a hand full of pastel pink petals, their smell sickly sweet.

*

He felt ready. His mission had failed, his Master was dead. His life was meaningless. He just wished he would go in any other way: fighting, yelling, covered in blood and the pain of his enemies. Falling under the Goddess’ punishment for his kind was the worst possible death.

But it was his destiny, he supposed. He couldn’t have avoided this outcome – how was he to avoid the Hero of the Legend, if he was the Sword of the Imprisoned? When Link defeated Demise, Ghirahim thought he would die as well. He had been right, he just didn’t knew it would happen in such a humiliating, slow way.

Fucking Hylia. Fucking cow, worthless, vulgar, disgusting Hylia and her cruel punishments. Some day he would destroy her, in another life – Ghirahim swore under his pain.

Oh, how he wished he could go back to the moment when Link won, and begged, begged on his knees that the young man stabbed him through his heart. Oh, what a merciless, sweet death it would have been then, to die under the power of the Hero, to be finished by that righteous sword. Ghirahim would have giving the world to die by such hand.

He was hard just thinking about it.

Lying in his makeshift bed in a cave, in some distant, floating island; hidden from sight, Ghirahim squeezed his own member, feeling it warm and pulsating. He imagined himself, on his knees in front of Link, looking up towards the blond, gorgeous man. He imagined Link, standing tall and powerful, a force of nature, green and yellow and wild, like an untamed beast, his teeth bared. He sped up his hands, feeling close, toes curling.

He would beg, beg so pretty that Link would kill him, would end him, would let him rest. Link would look unmoving, uncaring, cold and powerful and cruel. He would hold the Sacred Blade and he would slice – no, not slice. He would _penetrate_ Ghirahim’s chest, impaling him on the cold metal, going through skin and muscle and bone, entering Ghirahim’s core with a long, powerful thrust – deep deep _deep_ inside. So hard, so deep. Ghirahim would look into those blue eyes as the sword got even deeper, knowing he was dying because of him, dying and disappearing as Link got deep inside his body and…

He was coming, coming in long ropes, coming endlessly, coming and throwing up – it was all coming out of him piles of dark pink and faint purple petals that almost suffocated him with the sheer amount of it, exploding from his mouth, covering his face, burying his chest.

The scent of sperm wasn’t strong enough to outweigh the flower’s perfume. Ghirahim felt so weak he wasn’t able to stand and clean himself, a pathetic, dying excuse for a demon. His mouth was filled with the taste of earth and leaf. He suddenly knew, with clarity and certainty, that this abandoned cave in the Goddess’ sky would someday become his deathbed.

It already smelled like a funeral.

*

Link’s affair with the cashier girl ended without fanfare – the girl seemed relieved and her father more so. Ghirahim wanted to be as well, but he caught a glimpse of Link tying Orielle’s hair in a braid a few days ago, so he wasn’t feeling optimistic.

He thought about killing her. It would be easily done, and it would prevent him at least a few weeks of pain and suffering, maybe borrow him another month before his inevitable death. Not a tough bargain, another 30 days of life for the price of one worthless little girl. He would enjoy it too, slowly eviscerating that little bird, and maybe Link could keep it in his pants for at least two whole weeks. Who knows, really – Ghirahim was starting to believe his sweet wannabe eromenos was something of a town’s bicycle, so maybe he was buying himself a grand total of four peaceful days.

He planned her death, but then he considered Link’s pain. It wasn’t worth it.

Today they were hiking the waterfall, and Ghirahim hid in an indent in the stone just below a floating island. It was a small space to squeeze in, but he was certain they wouldn’t be able to see him there, and he could watch them almost directly when they finished their hike to the top. He almost never dared be this close, but he had the horrible feeling today would be the day Link confessed his attraction towards the girl.

The pair played for a while, laughing under the sun, washing their feet with the cold water of the waterfall, splashing each other in a flirty way. Orielle kept touching him – she was much more forward than Peatrice, and Link looked perfectly comfortable with letting her lead the pace.

She splashed him with water, he laughed and splashed back. She kicked him, he fell, she followed him down, straddling his waist. The inevitable happened: even as they both laughed, their mouths met.

As they were lying under a beautiful, bright sun, Ghirahim could see everything. Could see the way their lips battled for dominance, the moment Orielle sweetly gave it to him. Could see the way Link turned her around, lying over her body, his hands squeezing her waist, her hips, her shoulders. Could see their tongues tangling together. Everything. Everything.

His body convulsed under the strength of his nausea, pain filling his chest. Ghirahim saw as the first petals escaped his lips and fell all the way to the bottom of the waterfall, tainting the water down below with dark purple, while other petals flew away in the wind. Soon after, his vision started to blur. He tried to hang onto the stone wall, nails scraping the stone, but he felt his own fingers opening beyond his will as another wave of vomit hit him. The pain and dizziness was finally too much, and he felt himself falling, heavy and lifeless as a stone. He didn’t feel his body hit the water, but heard the sound and saw it surround him as he sunk.

The last thing he saw was a green clad figure diving from afar, and then he felt nothing, he saw nothing, drowned in darkness.

*

He dreamed of purple petals scattering in the wind against an open blue sky. For the first time he saw them as pretty little precious things, so easy to dissolve and crush.

*

Someone was holding a wet cloth against his forehead.

It was unnecessary. He didn’t have a fever: he was dying, or probably dead already. This wasn’t the flu, what the hell.

Maybe they were cleaning his corpse.

He opened his eyes – the first thing he saw was blond hair. His heart beat faster, and he forgot to breath. He had to blink three times before his vision cleared.

Fuck. It was just fucking Hylia.

She was called Zelda nowadays, wasn’t she? What kind of fucking name was Zelda anyway? Ghirahim tried to talk, but his voice came out wrong and painful.

“Just a second, you can’t – here, drink this.” Hylia gave him a glass of water, and even helped him take small sips. “Try again, slower this time.”

Ghirahim followed her advice, and spoke in clear, slow words.

“I said: get off my face, you annoying, undying fake bitch.”

She blinked at him, a small smile playing in the corner of her lips. “That’s your problem, then. Save yourself some breath and utter just one pointless offense at a time, okay? Just until you recover a bit.”

“ _My problem_ is that I’m _dying_. Imbecile.” He added, for good measure.

“Yes, that is a problem. I thought you would seek us before, honestly. I was waiting for you a month ago.”

“I didn’t seek you at all, I fell over a fucking-” his voice failed, and he had to drink another sip before continuing. “I fell face first over a fucking waterfall. But wait, you knew I was in Skyloft?” Ghirahim wasn’t really surprised, she was Hylia, but then again, he’d always been very good at spying.

“And I also knew you were sick. Your petals travelled far.” She was serious and grave, as if she was a healer giving bad news. “The smell of your sickness is all over the island, even the children can notice it by now.”

“Do they understand?” Ghirahim asked. It would be the last straw in a long line of humiliations – that Skyloftians would knew he was dying because he _fell in love_ , that they would all laugh at how weak and pathetic he was, damned by a flower.

“They think springtime has come earlier, and the flowers will bloom beautifully.” She answered without hesitation. “They do not know about you, Ghirahim, they have no idea demons are even real, and I plan to make sure it stays that way.”

“Small blessings.” Ghirahim muttered, but the Goddess heard anyway.

“It’s not like you deserve my big ones.”

Ghirahim had to close his eyes, otherwise he was certain he would strangle the fucking brat.

“Oh, yes, of course. I deserve what I get. I deserve this fate, don’t I? Such an ironic destiny. Demise could never match you in cruelness, I give you that.”

“I’m not…” Hylia swallowed, looked around the room, started again. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t say you deserve to die by this flower. I never wished this upon you, and I could never imagine it would happen, not even in a million years.”

“I couldn’t, either.” Ghirahim saw himself agreeing, because fuck, this was Hylia, but at least now he had someone to talk about his misery, and fuck, he had a lot to talk about. “I never thought I would be so careless I would… I mean, we all know the risk…”

“…of falling in love?” the girl completed, and she didn’t smile: if she smiled, Ghirahim would have killed her on the spot.

“And to fall for someone that would never… So many demons, so many companions through my life, if at least I could have…” Ghirahim didn’t sobbed, because he wasn’t about to cry: he swallowed the lump on his throat and kept going. “It’s fucking ridiculous, fucking unfair. If I had felt… this… for an _equal_ , it would have been risky but it would have been possible, but to fall for a human that could never return my, my _fucking_ affections, I killed myself, it’s suicide… Anyone else, but not…”

“Not Link?”

Ghirahim stared at her. Fucking bitch. _Fucking, stupid, cow of a bitch_.

“You know? Fuck, how do you fucking know this?”

“Who else would it be, Ghirahim?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “Groose? _Me_? I knew you were back and I knew you were in love, an unrequited love that cursed you with the flower. It was quite obvious, don’t you think?”

Ghirahim didn’t answer her. Instead he looked over the near window, noticing for the first time their surrounds. They were in the Academy.

“Tell me, Goddess, did you ever watch one of your dark children die under the flower curse?”

She sat in silence for a long time, before nodding once.

“How pathetic we must look to you, dying under the very thing that gives you strength.”

“This was never my wish, Ghirahim.”

“No, you always wished we could be obedient little paws to your design.”

She sighed. “This is an old argument, and we’ve had it countless times already. Stop deflecting. Ask me what you wish to know, before you lose your nerve.”

He had already lost his nerve, but since he couldn’t drag her to the old discussion, he should just own up to it.

“How long do I have?”

Silence.

“This is not an easy calculation to make, Ghirahim.”

“How many days, Goddess?”

“I may have the cure.”

His heart stopped. No. _No_.

“Of course you have the cure, it’s your curse-”

“It’s not my cur-”

“Will you give it to me?”

Another stretch of silence.

“Fuck it.” Ghirahim lost his patience. “ _Fuck you_. Go away, Your Holiness, let me die in fucking peace and shame, wanking over the Hero’s unwashed underwear. I won’t beg for it.”

More silence. Finally, she sighed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used the word cure. I fed your hopes too much, but for a moment I was afraid you had given up already. There’s nothing worse than losing hope.”

“Yes, there _is_. To suffocate under the weight of this heinous flower, its roots tangling upon my wind pipe as the petals fill my lungs – surely you’ll agree it’s a worst fate than being cynical.”

Silence. She wasn’t about to argue with him, Ghirahim realized: well, he supposed he now had the upper hand, the final argument – he was the one dying. There’s no arguing with suffering.

“I may have… a palliative. Something to ease the pain. It may cure it, but I’m not sure yet – we would have to wait and see, and maybe that would just frustrate us, but it’s something.”

Ghirahim stared her down. She was lying, she had to be. She was a fucking manipulative cunt that loved to push people towards the destinies that fitted better on her own little narrative, because the story was always _her_ story, not anyone else’s. She had to be lying.

“The only cure for the flower curse is for the other person to love you back. Either you are loved, or you are a dead demon. And even then…”

“Even then it’s risky.” Hylia agreed. “Their love would have to be strong enough. I know the curse, Ghirahim. It hurts, doesn’t it? Physical pain, I mean. And there is also the nausea waves, the vomit. Those must be horrible as well. I have something that might help with those symptoms, if we’re not able to kill the flower. Even if you’re resigned to your fate, it should be… better, shouldn’t it? To… slip away in some resemblance of peace? Wouldn’t you wish for something to make this terrible curse even marginally better?”

(She sounded sad about it. She ordered her knights to kill him innumerous times before, in the first war. That was in another life, but not really, _not where it counts_ : if only she had been conscious, she would have stood there and watched as Link pierced his heart time and time again, aiming to kill, not a year ago. Now she had the audacity to sound sad.)

“Being close helps.” He answered in a small voice. Being close to Link, watching his steps, he meant to say, but he had humiliated himself enough for this lifetime.

“Being close doesn’t help. Being close almost got you killed. Stalking Link around Skyloft is not making you healthier.”

“Well,” Ghirahim answered, defiant. “if I’m going to die anyway, I might as well go in a blaze of glory, doing what I do best!”

“Being a creep?”

Ghirahim gave her the middle finger, to which Hylia laughed freely. “No, asshole, staying near the enemy so I can destroy him eventually.”

“Ghirahim… Do you really still believe we are your enemies?”

That facial expression – the open, earnest face Hylia turned to the most pitiful beings in her universe, as if she was a merciful creator, capable of seeing all weakness and healing all wounds –, the moments when she had that exact expression were the moments Ghirahim hated her the most.

“If not my enemies, what are you?”

Her soft expression, the way her eyes suddenly became even more tender, filled with pity and sympathy, made him angrier, if that was possible.

“We are the only ones you’ve got left.”

*

In the end, Ghirahim was a desperate, dying man, alone and in pain: Hylia was right, of course, there was nothing else he could do but to accept her offer, and thank her for it.

After all the wars he fought; after all the sacrifices and battles, won and lost, time and time again; all the uprisings and all the blood spilled… Useless effort. It had all been for nothing: the war was lost, the rising King had been buried again, and the defeated sword lay broken under the victors’ feet. There he was, once again a victim of Hylia’s mercy.

She told him to rest. The supposedly miraculous medicine wasn’t easy to come by, apparently, and there wasn’t much he could do to help her, so he should spend a few days recovering in the Academy, waiting.

Ghirahim had the feeling he would do a lot of waiting on his lasts days on earth – or, you know, the sky. Waiting and throwing up, two of his favorite sports, right before getting maimed by the Sacred Blade and falling in unrequited love with Hylia’s golden boy.

Couldn’t get much worse than that, clearly.

*

On the second day, there was a knock on the door – Ghirahim had been sleeping, so it took him a while to realize what was happening. Before his mind could provide him with context (where he was, what time it was, what was his name, small details like that one tends to forget when deep asleep) the door opened and Link entered his room.

Just like that.

The second Ghirahim saw him – blond, small, pretty little thing with pink lips and blue eyes and terrible taste in hats – he felt the wave. It was funny, really. Vomiting flowers was always a pleasure experience at first, in the most humiliating sense: the wave always started as a wave of affecting, before it turned in itself as a wave of pain. The first thing he would always feel would be the extent of his love – the flower seemed to say: _This is your love. This is the deepness, the strength, the range of your love. This is how much you love. Those are the roots of your love, your true love, your undeniable love. You love him. For that, you shall pay._

And pay he did.

But the thing was, the thing _was_ : recognizing the affection, at first, knowing how strong and pure it grew inside his chest, recognizing in Link all the things he cherished and valued and held precious, it was – it felt _good_. He wanted to be in love, he desired all those feelings, he hung to the misery and the agony because it meant he also got to hang onto his eros.

Therefore, he desired death. He was already a lost case.

All that aside: Link was in his room, and Ghirahim was puking what felt like a whole rosebush on his bed side. Great start of the day.

Uncertain fingers brushed his shoulder, and the next second they turned into a grip: Link was raising him, helping him straight himself on the bed again.

“No, wait a moment, let me – ugh, that taste, help me to the bathroom…”

Link helpfully served as a crutch as Ghirahim stumbled into the bathroom. He didn’t felt quite as weak as he was two days ago, he actually managed to stand on his own, but the Hero was being so silently helpful and close, he didn’t figure there was anything wrong in affecting a bit of dizziness.

After Ghirahim was satisfied that he wasn’t tasting earth or leafs any more, he dragged his own self back to the bed – didn’t take Link’s offered hand this time, because he still hadn’t vomited the last of his dignity.

He sat on the bed, trying to ignore the petals at his bedside and the sickling sweet smell they provided. A migraine was forming behind his eyes, one that he was almost sure had nothing to do with the flower, for once.

“So it’s true.” Link said. Lo and behold, it talks. “You’re dying.”

It was a fact, pronounced as fact, joyless but also painless. Ghirahim would much rather have the Hero crying, yelling at the skies about the unfairness of it all, gripping his thighs and begging him not to go where he can’t follow, etcetera etcetera; well. At least Link came to see him: one most value the effort of going over a whole flight of stairs.

“Yes, I am.” Ghirahim answered unnecessarily. “And soon, as it seems.”

“How soon?”

He was standing by the door, why was he standing by the door?

“Sit down, Hero.” Ghirahim pointed the chair Hylia occupied two days before. “I won’t attack you, unless you count vomit as a weapon.”

“If you ever helped Groose on his hangovers as I did, you would.” Link didn’t take the hint and, instead, sat beside Ghirahim on his bed, which was cute but also quite rude of him. He took a handful of pink petals, gathering them from the floor. “This is what you always vomit?”

“Yes. One of these days they’ll start coming out bloody, but I’ve been lucky so far.”

“Oh.” He was looking at the flowers, biting his lip. “They are pretty.”

“They are killing me. Also, Skychild, I feel like I should point out they _are_ my vomit, even though you just witnessed it. This is quite disgusting.”

Link smiled. “No, it’s not. It’s just petals.”

“I vomited those.”

“They are pretty.”

“I _vomited_ those.”

“They smell good.”

Ghirahim flipped his hair and rolled his eyes. Fucking bitch-ass flower boy, his beloved was.

“The smell gets nauseating after a while, trust me.”

“Well, yes, I can imagine. Especially for its meaning.” Link finally raised his eyes, turning around to look at Ghirahim. “You didn’t answer me. How much time do you got left?”

“I didn’t answer you because I don’t have the answer. Your Holiness didn’t share it with me. She wants me to have ‘hope’.” Ghirahim let himself stare at Link. Okay, time to ask the big questions. “How much did she tell you about this?”

“She told me you’re dying.”

“And?”

Link looked down at his hands, covered in flowers. That gossiping bitch must have told him. That _fucking cow_ must have told him everything.

“She told me you had been cursed. That there is a flower inside your heart and that it’ll kill you eventually.”

Ghirahim waited patiently, but Link didn’t tell him anything else, as if that was all he knew. Well, the Hero was never one to lie, so he was willing to accept maybe the bitch was not necessarily a gossiping bitch, just a really noise one.

“First of all, _I_ wasn’t cursed. This is not Ghirahim’s curse. My whole people has the flower, it was part of Hylia’s punishment.”

“Really?” Link seemed surprised, and his eyes grew bigger. “Why didn’t it kill Demise, then?”

Ghirahim laughed. “The flower doesn’t grow on everyone. The seeds need reason to sprout, and trust me, Demise was completely unable to have it blossom.”

Link looked more confused. “What reason? What makes it grow?”

“It grows on love, Link.” Ghirahim suddenly felt tired, not physically, but exhausted of dealing with the fact he was dying over such a stupid thing. “Demons can’t love, otherwise they’ll die. That’s Hylia’s curse.”

“Zelda wouldn’t do that.” He answered immediately, always the loyal paw.

“Zelda might not, but Hylia would. Your Holiness was never one to forgive and forget.”

Link didn’t reply, but Ghirahim was sure he didn’t believe him. Well, worst for him – one of these days he would learn who Hylia really was the hard way.

“Love? Love causes it?”

_He’s going to ask me. Any second now, he’s going to ask me who I… who’s the reason._

“Yes, it is. Love is killing me.”

Silence. Link’s next words took an unexpected direction.

“So the flower grows inside your heart.”

“Wrong again. Did Hylia tell you that? She must have forgotten her own spell, then. The flower actually lives in my stomach, and that’s why I throw up its petals. Demons used to think the flower lived inside their hearts because their hearts would beat faster anytime they were about to vomit. Of course, they didn’t know at the time that their hearts were only reacting to the feeling of euphoria brought by the closeness of being next to their beloved.”

“So it reacts to closeness?”

“Not necessarily.” Demon Anatomy 101 was apparently the class of the day. “The flower reacts to the affections of the eros feelings, that is: fondness, jealousy, sexual attraction. You can be next to your beloved, but if you’re mad at him or her, you won’t be sick. But even if you are kilometers away and remembers them with love or misses them, the flower will act up.”

“Oh. So you could be hurting for someone who… died, or who doesn’t exist anymore, for an instance?”

What a weird question from a weird little boy.

“Well, yes. Actually that’s quite common. It happened time and time again. Demons would be living happy with a companion for most of their lives, until that person died, for one reason or another. That would trigger the flower into existence, and the demon would die soon after.”

Link stared at its petals once again. They were slowly getting darker because of the pressure of the Hero’s fingers, delicate forms that got corrupted even with the smallest of touches.

“And you’re positive there is no cure?”

Ghirahim sighed. “Many looked for it, but we never heard of anyone who succeeded. Most demons, like me, basically tried to prevent the feeling. It’s a condemnation, after all. But the only cure is to be loved back.”

Link’s eyes raised immediately, as if that was such an exciting news – oh, yes, maybe Ghirahim failed to mention the flower was only triggered by unrequired love. If a demon was loved in return, of course, he could live happily ever after, but it was not worth the fucking risk, now was it? Link looked hopeful anyway.

His high spirits only lasted a second, though, and the next moment he lowered his eyes again. This time he sounded almost sad when he said:

“That’s why you’ll die.”

Ghirahim choked. Either Link already knew who Ghirahim loved, and therefore knew he would be unable to ever love the demon; or Link thought Ghirahim was impossible to love, it didn’t even matter who the demon loved. Either possibility was breaking Ghirahim’s heart. He would probably start vomiting soon enough, and he almost wished the petals came covered in blood.

“How will it happen?”

Link’s question once again took an unexpected turn, and Ghirahim focused on it – Demon Anatomy 101. That was the important thing here. They were trying to find a cure through a scientific method, it seemed.

“The flower will grow with time. The stronger the love or the rejection, the more it grows. Some demons lived years with the flower, because their beloveds were attracted to them, or had any kind of fondness. Demons who fell in love with enemies died in weeks.”

That was his case. It was a wonder he lived this far. It must have been his strength as the Imprisoned’s Sword that kept him alive.

“One way or another, if the person doesn’t love you back – strongly, mind you – you’ll die. As it is, the flower will cause me pain and nausea as it grows inside my stomach. Anytime it expands, I’ll puke its petals. Once it’s bigger, the flower’s roots and petals will perforate my walls and expand. That’s when I’ll start throwing up bloody petals. But that might not kill me – I’ve dealt with internal bleeding before, your lovely self was the cause of it many times before. Red potions might also help, and I might survive this stage. But I’ll be on constant pain by then, and weakened as the flower feeds on my magic. The real problem begins when it grows towards my respiratory system. The petals will come in such big waves I won’t be able to spell it all, and they’ll end up traveling back through my trachea towards my lungs as I try to puke and inspire at the same time. I’ll drown on it. Respiratory failure. That is, if the roots don’t grow so much they’ll tangle over my trachea, closing my windpipe. If that happens, my breath will first become sweet, almost fruity, and I’ll taste earth constantly. That won’t matter, because it won’t last long after that. I’ll suffocate.”

Link seemed shocked beyond words. _Good_. He’ll die a humiliating, horrible, bedridden death because of this fucking vermin, so the vermin might as well deal with the pain he’s causing. _Look at those open wounds, Link. Look at how they bleed prettily, in pastel pink and bright purple colors. Look at this rotten body. You caused it._

“I’m sorry.” He said at least, and this time he looked as Ghirahim thought he wanted him to look, devastated, shocked, hurt. The desired drama didn’t bring the satisfaction Ghirahim thought it might. No, those unshed tears in Link’ eyes weren’t joyful for the demon. Instead, it was all for nothing, a useless mourning of a living corpse, useless, useless, useless. Ghirahim chuckled.

“You tried to kill me not three months ago, Link. You don’t have to do this now.”

“I tried to kill an enemy in a battlefield. This… this is different.”

“A death is a death is a death, Skychild. It’ll be over soon.”

“It’s Demise, isn’t it?” Link blurted out fast, as if he wasn’t physically capable of keeping his mouth shut another second.

 _What_ , Ghirahim thought.

“What?” Ghirahim said aloud, after further consideration.

“Your unrequited love. It’s Demise, isn’t it? Your Master, the one you were faithful ‘till the very end. That’s why you tried so hard to bring him back. That’s why you’re so hopeless now, because you can’t be with him. It’s Demise.”

Fucking hell.

Well, it made sense, actually, much more sense than falling in love with Link. Demise was a demon as well, Demise was his king, and his Master. But the power balance between them was much too tipped for Ghirahim to ever love him. Besides, the only reason Link thought he could be in love with Demise was because the Hero didn’t actually knew the monster. Demise was _pure evil_ , not 80% evil, 5% sweetness, 15% charm. The Demon King was a beast, a force of destruction, he didn’t have moments of affection, he didn’t have layers of hidden appeals, he never demonstrated tenderness. Not even for a second, not even a single moment. He was excellence because he didn’t carry his humans weakness with him, those were all left in the past – all other demons, Ghirahim included, had tender spots, had flesh and beating hearts underneath their shells. Demise was a dark void, a black hole, negative matter – there wasn’t space for a flower to grow in his core. Yes, Ghirahim was faithful, because Ghirahim was attracted to the beauty of his uncorrupted power, and because there was no one else as committed and as capable to avenge the demons as Demise. But to love that beast? Who could ever love a catastrophe?

But, well, that explained Link’s behavior. The boy wasn’t stupid per se; he just jumped into conclusions way too fast for someone who’d just learned the difference between the digestive and the circulatory systems.

“Yes…” Ghirahim agreed slowly, narrowing his eyes as his mind tried to figure if this was a smart move or not. “You are… hm… absolutely… right, yes. Uhm. Demise. Yes, Demise, of course. My Master, Demise, Your Highness, All Powerful, yes. Love him to death. Ha ha, ‘to death’, get it? Hm… Not funny, hm, anyway. Demise, yes. Beautiful Demise with that flaming hairdo. Miss him so much, and all that. My heart… so full of… hm, Demise. Yes. And a big boy, he was. Yes, in love with him, totally.”

“And it’s hopeless because… he’s gone.” Link didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness, because Ghirahim had clearly been wrong and the boy was a dumb as a door.

“Yes, hopeless, because, hm, he’s gone and dead. You killed him, yes. And I… I was there, remember? Good times. Hmm. No, yes, I’m dead too, because my beloved is gone and yes, basically fucked.”

Link sighed. If he started to cry Ghirahim was going to be obliged to bitch slap him.

“But Zelda might find a cure. She thinks she has something.”

“Your Holiness might find a palliative, that’s what she said. Something to ease the pain. Don’t get me wrong, beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m way pass the point of wanting to torture myself further for this stupidity. If the Goddess has the right drugs, I’ll happily die high as a fucking kite, Skychild.”

“Yeah, sure. We won’t let you be in pain.” Link smiled in reassurance, and fuck, Ghirahim was in pain right the fuck now, the young man was beautiful. “I’ll talk to Zelda, see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Ghirahim couldn’t help it. He inclined himself further, invading Link’s personal space and whispering right against his ear.

“You know, you could be of _great_ help, Skychild. Skyloft nights are so cold, you might as well keep a sick man _warm_ and cozy, I bet your body must be _very hot_.”

He licked the Hero’s neck, just for old time’s sake, right before Link pushed him away, throwing the petals on his face for good measure. The push was light, though, and the Hero was laughing.

“Yeah, you wish, Ghirahim. Don’t worry, I’ll send you a blanket.” Link raised, still laughing, slightly blushed. “I’ll go now, Zelda might need me to travel somewhere, apparently. Once I get news I’ll come to talk to you again, alright? Get some rest, and please, don’t be stupid. You can fight me again once you’re healed, no climbing waterfalls to ambush me while you’re carrying this flower, alright?”

So that’s what the slow kid thought had happened that day. Probably figured Ghirahim wanted to avenge his dead lover. What an idiot. Ghirahim wanted ten of him.

“I’ll behave. Pinky promise.”

Link nodded, as if the words were a formal vow. He went for the door, but turned back again before he left.

“Ghirahim… I won’t say I’m sorry I killed Demise. I’m not. But I never wished for… this. And… And I had no idea your actions were made out of love. I thought you were power hungry and vengeful. If I’d know you were… you loved him… I judge you wrong all this time. For that, I really am sorry.”

Well, no, Link had judge him just right: he was power hungry and vengeful, and petty on top of that, and occasionally an asshole, Ghirahim was quite aware of his own vices. The Hero was gone before Ghirahim could answer, though.

That was the kind of situation one could never predict in their life.

*

Ghirahim vomited more once Link was gone. The flower grew. When faced with Link’s stupidity and naivety, the flower grew, because Ghirahim was also in love with the Hero’s worst flaws – he was in love with his smell, with his smile, with his tone of voice. He was in love with the soft eyes and with the calloused hands. In love with the strength and with the weakness.

He wanted to be mad at himself. How could he fall in love with this puny human? He was just a human’s child, just a young man, just another _boy_ who could barely hold his own in battle, just a vermin that would eventually die and become dust. The only reason he wasn’t dead was because Ghirahim pitied him in their first battle. How could he love that insignificant bug now?

But no – no, Ghirahim whispered. No. Link was made of legend. Link was bright and he shone like a lighthouse, piercing the darkness with his light. Even sitting there, with his long, pale fingers covered in petals, Link was obscenely gorgeous, beyond his physical appearance, beyond his body – his soul had a star in it. He was bigger than his own life, and that’s why he would come back, time and time again, to shine over the land, otherwise all life would wither and die like a plant without sun. Special didn’t cover it – Link was everything. He was meant to be the light, and Ghirahim was meant to adore him.

So many days plotting his death, only to see his hate vanquished by Link’s light, without the Hero ever realizing. How could Ghirahim resist such beauty?

Suddenly, dying by the flower of his adoration for Link didn’t seem as such a humiliation. What else was his body meant to, if not to worship Link’s existence? Why did he have lungs and a heart and lips, if not to offer it all in sacrifice to Hylia’s most beautiful creation?

Ghirahim could forgive the flower and its petals and its roots; he could forgive Hylia and her curse and her vengeance. He could forgive death, the pain in his chest, the weakness in his members. He loved the only being that deserved his immolation, and he wasn’t afraid of the fire anymore.

*


	2. cadet grey darkness as it surrounds a yellow desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghirahim waited in Lanayru’s dry desert as Link did the ridiculous stunt of throwing himself from a traveling fucking bird using just the Goddess’ napkin as a parachute.
> 
> “It’s amazing you didn’t manage to end your life by your own self and save me the trouble, a true fucking miracle.”
> 
> “You jealous of my mad flying skillz?” his smile was so bright, white teeth against sun tanned skin, Ghirahim felt nauseous. He started walking just to feel better.
> 
> “Your _bird’s_ flying skills, you can’t even jump very high, let alone fly.”
> 
> “What do you call what I just did?”
> 
> “What do I call falling like a rock from the sky and hoping for the best? Stupidity?” Ghirahim raised his eyebrows at Link. “Consider also calling it gravity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! From outer space!
> 
> I'll read and answer each and every single comment in each and every single fic of mine. I can't tell you all how much sorry I am for the long wait. Will try to finish this fic as fast as human possible.

“If you all visit the dead this much, I’m sure Skyloft’s graveyard must be a very popular site.”

“Oh, will you stop it?” Hylia told him, brushing off his commentary, entering his room and sitting on his chair as if she owned it. “If you were dead already you wouldn’t be so talkative. I refuse to mourn the living.”

“And will you?” Ghirahim was suddenly serious.

“Will I what?”

“Mourn me. Will any of you mourn me, when the time comes?”

Ever since his acceptance of the pain, the thought of his funeral had been torturing him, mostly because he was stuck on this room for four days, with only the daily Link’s visit to distract him from his morbid thoughts – the Hero had brought him food and asked him how he was, but hadn’t talked much.

Link’s good intentions aside, Ghirahim saw himself questioning what kind of treatment would his body and memories receive, once he was gone.

“Ghirahim, we shouldn’t…”

“I want to talk about it. You haven’t told me how long I have, and Link isn’t even aware that I’m… That I…”

“Link doesn’t know you love him because you lied to him.” She said with a hard expression.

“ _He_ lied to himself. I’m not at fault here, the boy’s stupidity has nothing to do with me. Who does he think he is anyway, jumping to conclusions over my feelings?”

“Well, your stubbornness might make things harder, you know. If you would just let me tell him…”

“Not your secret to share, Your Holiness. I would much appreciate if you could at least prevent me from _that_ humiliation. Think of it as my last request.” Ghirahim flipped his hair, unable to look her in the eyes as he tried to sound casual about the whole affair, as if his most valuable secret wasn’t in the tiny little hands of a hateful Goddess. “Besides, what good would that make? You, of all people, should remember how heavy Link’s burden was over the past year. I should hope you could offer some sympathy for your most loyal servant, but apparently your divine heart won’t even soft for your champion.”

Hylia stared at him for a couple of seconds, before asking in the lowest tone of voice, barely above a whisper:

“…the fuck you’re talking about, Ghirahim?”

(Honestly, it still surprised him to catch Hylia swearing. It was so unlike the Goddess that once upon a time wouldn’t waste her breath saying a single word that wouldn’t affect the course of time; sometimes the changes between his Goddess and this girl would get the demon unprepared, like a sudden u-turn.)

“You’re smarter than that, or at least you used to be.”

“I’m not anymore, apparently.” She crossed her arms. “Do enlighten me, please.”

“I’m saying, Goddess, that our dear Hero doesn’t need to carry the weight of my death upon everything else. I’m not convinced he holds any special tenderness for my person, and I’m sure he would have killed me on our final tête-à-tête if Demise hadn’t risen; that being said, he has the spirit of the Hero, after all. He will try to save anyone who needs saving; feeling responsible is part of who, of what he is. If he knows for sure he is the object of my affections, how do you think he’ll react? Badly, I’m sure. And since I am, indeed, enamored with that foolish man, it won’t even bring me any sort of amusement to watch him suffer. He’ll eat himself away in guilt. The real problem here is that all the guilty in the world can’t help us: you can’t forge love out of remorse.”

She was biting on her own lower lips, lost in thought, uncertainty in her features. “You… dammit, you might be right. Well, he’s already worried, that much I can say. He wants to help so badly. That’s why I’m here, actually, to talk to you about your medicine, we should-”

“After we’re done talking about my funeral arrangements, sure.”

The Goddess sighed, hiding her face in her hands. “Ghirahim, fuck! Seriously, who do you think I am? Of course I will provide you a proper funeral, _if needed_.” she paused, breathing hard. Well, apparently somethings were still able to shake her. “Do you- I really don’t want to do this, I don’t want to think about it, I wish we weren’t talking about it, but if you… if you…”

She looked so young, at that moment. Young as Ghirahim had never seen her. She sounded and behaved a lot like the girl that was never aware of her own power, an insecure young woman that hadn’t learned how to behave in difficult social situations yet. It was difficult to project the image he built around his beautiful and terrible Creator into this small, almost trembling little girl.

Anyway, why should it be this painful? Ghirahim was all about painkillers these days. He raised himself from his bed, opened the door and asked her:

“Your Holiness, would you please call for Link? We should have this conversation in his presence. It will be for the better, I believe.”

Hylia nodded and slipped quietly out of the room. A good half an hour later she was back with Link, and her eyes looked suspiciously red, but she wasn’t crying or trembling. What a weird, particular little girl his Goddess embodied.

“Hey, man. How are you?”

_Still terribly in love with you, but overconsumed with other matters, so thankfully not throwing up right now, apparently._

“Quite well today, Hero, thank you for asking. We have some matters we should discuss, don’t you believe?”

Link scratched the back of his head, looking unsure. He wasn’t wearing the knight’s uniform today, but a plain white shirt that seemed comfy and too big on him. His hair was getting long, looking a bright honey shade of blond now that the summer was upon them; his skin was getting tanned and he looked healthy, so incredibly healthy next to Ghirahim’s paleness.

(He’s going to live on. He’s going to live on, because he’s healthy and young and beautiful, while you’re rotting faster and faster, a dead man walking. You should hate him, hate him because he is strong where you are weak, he is life where you are dead. You should envy him, and resent him. You should _not_ be happy with his good fortune, Ghirahim. What have you become?)

“Look, man, I’m not sure it’s time to talk about those things yet. Zelda seems to hope we achieve something real with her potions, and I’ve never been one to lose faith, even you know that.” He looked over Hylia, sitting on the chair by the bed once again. She nodded slightly, and he turned his full attention at Ghirahim again. “Anyway, that’s what I think, and I’m sure that’s how she feels as well. But she also told me you were not sure we would provide you with a… with, you know…”

“A funeral.” Ghirahim said, rolling his eyes. “For souls that are destined to be reborn time and time again, you both sound too afraid of talking about death.”

“Yeah, well, fuck me, but I thought I should put it gentle, since it’s, you know, _your literal funeral_ we are talking about here.” Link looked bitchy, and Ghirahim made a face – the boy had a point. “But if you want those matters to be treated pragmatically, I am an action man, so it’s all the better.”

“I don’t wish to cause you any more inconvenient,” Ghirahim thought it would be nice not to sound so ungrateful and turn down his inner asshole a notch. “so I’ll try to make all the arrangements necessary before the time comes. I wish to be buried on the Surface. It is my realm after all… or, at least, it was, for a long time. But I can’t be sure I’ll finish the preparations before the final blow, and you can imagine the last arrangements escape my grasp, sadly. So I’ll need your help one final time after the ending.”

They both looked serious and grave as they payed attention to him… they both looked sad. Why, why sad? Well, Ghirahim supposed it was depressing to hear someone talk about their own death with such detachment and acceptance. But the other option – despair, pain, angst – would clearly be much worse. Besides, funerals always bring us the notion of our own finitude, and we can’t easily ignore that, so maybe that’s the reason for their melancholy.

“I promise that, if necessary, we’ll do everything according to your wishes, Ghirahim.” Link said.

“We both promise you that.” Hylia spoke as well.

“If necessary.” Link added again, for good measure. He gave Ghirahim a small smile. “And please, please don’t do anything beforehand. It would be a pain in the ass if you go through all the trouble of planning a big event and ends up not dying on us. What would you do with all the RSVPs?”

“I’m sure we can spare a Bokoblin to bury in my place.” Ghirahim joked, earning a surprised chuckle from Hylia and an even bigger smile from the Hero. Link sobered up to ask him again:

“No, but seriously, don’t do that. Just write us down your wishes and we’ll make sure everything goes as you want. You should take your time to heal, not spend energy on that. Besides, no one should plan their own funeral.”

“Okay, I won’t. But it would be something to do, at least.” Ghirahim left his spot leaning against the wall and threw his body dramatically over his own bed, an arm covering his eyes. “I swear I’m going crazy inside this room. I’m stronger by now, I’m not dying… well, I am dying, but not _right now_ , so it would be nice to do something. All I do is think about the flower and read, and our Goddess only lends me those little boring philosophical books of hers.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry if my library is not up to your liking, Lord Ghirahim.” Hylia said with sarcasm, but no venom. “I didn’t think it would be in good taste to give you romantic stories in your fragile condition.”

“‘Fragile condition’? I’m cursed, not pregnant. Besides, that’s it? That’s what Your Holiness reads on your free time? Philosophy and girly romances? Don’t you have anything more raunchy? Oh!” Ghirahim raised his upper body to look at Link on the other side of the room. “How about you, Hero of mine? Any erotica? I won’t even mind the sticky pages.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you stay awake at night formulating all the fucked up shit you gonna say over the day or if it just comes to you naturally.” Link answered, slapping Ghirahim’s feet off the way to sit by the bed.

“Can’t fake talent, babe.”

“Alright, can we focus here?” Hylia snapped her fingers twice to get their attentions, as if they were misbehaving little dogs. “Reading is fundamental but I think we can all agree we have more important issues on our hands right now. I’ve been studying a possible medicine…”

“Where have you been studying?” Link asked.

Hylia turned on the chair to look at him. “On books, Link. Where else would I be studying, you loony?”

“You could have asked your father. Or, you know, that big wise flying fish.”

“Levias? If I talked to Levias then I wouldn’t be studying, I would be asking around. Those are different actions, you fucktard.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “You are right, please continue.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I have been _studying_ , and it seems a vast combination of potions might be the best solution. Before you question me, we won’t be buying our potions in the Bazaar. I’ll have to cook it myself if we want this to succeed. But there’s a catch.”

“You’re a terrible cooker.” Link answered immediately, to which Ghirahim couldn’t help but snort.

“No, that’s not it…”

“No, but you are.” Link insisted, even as Hylia groaned. He turned to Ghirahim. “She is. She fucked up tea once. I had no idea you could fuck up tea, its hot water and leaves, but she did it. It was amazing.”

“Link, I’ll fuck up _your face_ if you can’t shut it.” The Goddess answered, and Ghirahim had to swallow down another wave of laugh. “I won’t be making dinner, I’ll be breeding potions, so being tasty is not my priority here. The thing is, we need ingredients. Good, rare ingredients we can only find on the Surface. I’ll need you to go search for things like Dusk Relics and the Goddess plume…”

“No, wait.” Ghirahim had to interrupt. “Why would I need to search for the Goddess plumes?”

The girl sitting in front of him raised her eyebrows. “Because it’s one of the main ingredients to one of the potions that might save your life? Because I’m sure it’ll be necessary in great amount on the days to come? Or, alternatively, because I say so?”

“Yes, Your Holiness, thank you so very much, but you are the Goddess. Can’t you provide Goddess plumes?”

Another full second of staring. Finally, she said, in a slow, clear tone:

“Ghirahim, do you see any feathers on my person? Any feathers in any place in my body?” she inclined herself on her chair, getting near the bed. “Do you see any wings on my back? Do I look like a fucking cucco to you? Should I pull feathers out of my ass? _Do you think I shit wings in my downtime?_ Seriously, I have no idea what the hell do you think being the Goddess means, but you keep saying that as if I could Goddess my way out of every daily inconvenience!”

“Yeah, Ghirahim, stop interrupting with random non-sense.” Link, the little shit, had the courage to say after he had just interrupted with random non-sense not once, but twice. Ghirahim kicked him in the ribs to punish him, to which the boy only laughed, grabbing Ghirahim’s feet and pulling them on his lap.

Ghirahim felt a subtle wave of nausea grow inside his chest at Link’s thoughtless gesture, but thankful Hylia was talking again and he could concentrate on something else.

(Still, still. Link’s warm fingers around his ankles kept his skin tingling and his throat closed.)

“So, anyway, you assholes: we need the good shit and we need it soon. I think I should probably start with the auto-immune serum, to try and create a resistance in your immune system to the flower. We should probably try it with the Ancient Flower.”

“How much would you need, Goddess?”

“Fifteen, I think? I could probably start the serum with just five, but we might need another dose pretty soon. It’ll all depend on how your body will respond to it. They are not that difficult to find, really – Lanayru is filled with it, you just have to hit the right switches to get the desert green again.”

For a split second, Ghirahim felt a heavy sense of futility: why would he go to Lanayru of all places, to face the desert and walk that dead land searching for Timeshift stones, climbing rocks and killing Deku Babas over some stupid flower who might serve as a serum or who might just be useless? Why would he try to prevent something that was already his fate? Who knows if he even manages to comeback from this trip, or if he’ll die in some lost cave, unable to breath around the petals; who knows if he’ll survive or if…

No. No, that’s not who he was. That was the disease, the curse, talking. That was the flower. Ghirahim persevered, always. He stayed alive and he succeeded in raising an army when his Master was dead and everything was lost. He faced the Goddess and brought her back from the shelter Hylia herself had raised around her people. He faced dragons and the Hero of Legend. He could do this.

“Ghirahim? Are you with us, man?” Link’s voice awoke him again.

“Of course, Hero, I was just figuring the preparations I’ll have to do to travel.” Ghirahim lied, smiling easily. “I should probably take some red potions with me, and I might find myself some sort of hook if I’m to climb those caves.”

“Oh, no need, I think my hooks are strong enough to hold us both. You might be taller but you’re so thin anyway, we should be good. Red potions are a good idea, though.”

Ghirahim did a double take. “Wait. What?”

“My hooks. I have two, they should hold us both comfortably if the need arises, otherwise we can take turns or separate the hooks, whatever.”

Ghirahim wasn’t quite able to understand what Link was implying.

“Are you saying…?”

Hylia could read his mind, apparently, and came to his rescue. “Link offered to go with you, I thought you knew that. In fact, he offered to go in your place, but since you’re nagging us to get you something to do, I thought a bit of fresh air and adventure might be good to your health.”

Unbelieving, Ghirahim turned to Link, who just shrugged.

“Yeah, man. I mean,” at this point, Link squeezed Ghirahim’s ankles in his delicate fingers. “we got your back, alright? I’ll help as much as I can.”

Maybe it was the small smile that accompanied the words. Maybe it was his warm, warm hands, gently massaging Ghirahim’s calves. Maybe it was the earnest sentiment that Link exhaled. Maybe the selfless, sympathetic gesture.

The thing was, Ghirahim couldn’t take it. The next moment he was tumbling out of the bed, a hand against his mouth, trying to reach for the bathroom. There were petals everywhere, escaping between his fingers, getting inside his clothes, making him slip as they piled on the floor. Ghirahim was finally on the bathroom, but the door was open and he could hear both Hylia and Link getting inside, shouting his name. He needed to get away, get away from Link’s bright light, otherwise he would die sprawled on that bathroom floor.

“Link, you should go!” he heard Hylia saying, and he would thank her if he could stop the flow of petals.

“Zelda, he needs-”

“Now, Link! I’ll take care of him. He doesn’t want you to see him like this, go!”

The second he heard the bedroom door close, he started to breathe again.

*

In the days that followed, Ghirahim tried to convince himself not to read too much into it. Link earned for the sense of adventure, his spirit made to be a Hero; he would take anything to be back on the road – saving one demon was just as good as an excuse as anything else, really.

That kept the nausea at bay – he could rationalize with the flower, at least, or rationalize with his stupid feelings. So Link was just being a good Hero and Ghirahim would be a good demon and take the opportunity for what it was, since the Savior was on the business of making the impossible happen.

He accepted the help, with open arms and a painful smile.

His magic was still strong enough to travel between realms, so he waited in Lanayru’s dry desert as Link did the ridiculous stunt of throwing himself from a traveling fucking bird using just the Goddess’ napkin as a parachute.

“It’s amazing you didn’t manage to end your life by your own self and save me the trouble, a true fucking miracle.”

“You jealous of my mad flying skillz?” his smile was so bright, white teeth against sun tanned skin, Ghirahim felt nauseous. He started walking just to feel better.

“Your _bird’s_ flying skills, you can’t even jump very high, let alone fly.”

“What do you call what I just did?”

“What do I call falling like a rock from the sky and hoping for the best? Stupidity?” Ghirahim raised his eyebrows at Link. “Consider also calling it gravity.”

Link laughed, throwing his head back.

“C’mon, it’s fun. One of these days I’ll take you for a ride on Crimson, whatchu say?”

“Oh, that’s such a great idea. Riding that smelly animal recklessly through the fucking clouds would surely help me realize dying isn’t so bad after all.”

Ghirahim waited, but Link didn’t laugh, didn’t even chuckle. He looked back to see the Hero staring intently at him, unamused.

“Did I offend you by calling that overgrowth chicken smelly?”

“Not at all. I’m not offended, I just… I don’t very much understand how you can joke about it.”

“About dying?” Link hummed his affirmative. “What do you want me to do, despair? There would be no use for it, Hero. Besides, I would make for a terrible company if I kept whining about it. Let me go knowing that you will all remember me as the life of the party, even in my parting days.”

That finally earned a chuckle out of Link. “You’re much braver than I expected. Much braver than I would be in your position.”

“Hero, you faced certain death a thousand times during our little war against each other. Don’t flatter me by diminishing your tremendous courage.”

“Yeah, well, that’s different, isn’t it? You go into battle, you may believe you’re about to die, but you have the option to fight, right? If you’re good enough, or strong enough, or lucky enough, you might live. That… the flower, it’s different. You have to wait for it, to just expect the day it will finally win. You can’t fight it.”

Ghirahim stopped climbing the mountain side he and Link were trying to top. “I can’t fight it? What the hell do you think I’m doing? Am I under the fucking sun sweating and messy like a pig and breaking my nails over this bitch of a rock because that’s my idea of a good time? Or am I doing my best to harden the fuck up and fight this asshole flower?”

“That’s not what I mea-”

“ _Yes_ , the flower is a death sentence, and yes, I don’t believe I will survive it. But _fuck you_ , Link. I’m a warrior through and through. _I’m a sword_ , I was forged to battle, and I’ve been facing impossible combats long before Our Sanctity Hylia farted you into existence. This is nothing if not another enemy to slash in pieces.”

Ghirahim didn’t want to look over Link, but his beloved attracted his eyes, just by being there. It was a good thing he looked, though: Link’s face betrayed his surprise, his wonder and some amusement. Maybe – maybe – even a small deal of affection. In a much gentler voice, the Hero said:

“You are not sweating and messy like a pig.” With a finger, he traced a single line over Ghirahim’s forehead, close to his hairline. “Your skin’s still dry and your hair is impeccable. Bet you’re gonna get all this flowers without a single dirt on your white gloves.”

“Well…” Ghirahim muttered, turning away from the Hero. “If we don’t meet any nasty Deku Babas or if we don’t sink into the sand, I think we’ll be good.”

*

Of course they do met a great number of nasty, horrible, smelly Deku Babas, and of fucking course Link forgot to watch his step and ended up falling into the sand, and Ghirahim had no other choice but to get himself dirty as well. The environment was so hostile Ghirahim didn’t even had time to remember he was in love with the boy beside him – he was too busy cursing electrified Bokoblin swords. By the end of the day, they were both in terrible shape and had managed to find only eight flowers, so after Ghirahim located a river, he offered:

“Well, we could clean ourselves and set camp here tonight, what do you think?”

Link nodded, but looked lost and uncertain.

“We don’t have to do it, Hero. We could just go back to the Sky and come back down tomorrow. Or you could go sleep on your own bed and meet me here whenever, it’s not an issue.”

“No, yeah, I know, it’s just…” he scratched the back of his neck. “I never slept on the Surface. I mean, it’s okay, it’s easier if we just stay, I just never did before, but that’s… whatever, let’s just clean ourselves, I think there’s so much sand up my asshole it’s coming out of my mouth.”

They get in the water quietly, and Ghirahim didn’t even peak (much) on Link’s naked form beside him – the boy was behaving weirdly, and it was throwing Ghirahim out of his game. When they were both out of the water and smelling better – and definitely without the annoying rub of sand in places where sand should not be – Ghirahim managed to ask Link if he was sure he was going to sleep on the Surface, but the Hero dismissed the question easily.

They didn’t have much to set camp with, since Link hadn’t considered sleeping on the Surface. But Ghirahim had packed a few blankets and could conjure fire with his magic, and that was all they really needed. Finally, it was dark all around them, the last ray of light escaping the desert, and Ghirahim was ready to lie down. As he looked over Link, though, the boy was even more tense, both hands in fists and his mouth in a firm line, staring straight into the sky.

Ghirahim sighed and rose into a sitting position.

“C’mon, Hero, let’s go. Up you get.”

“What?”

“We’re going back to the Sky, you clearly can’t sleep like this.”

“NO!” Ghirahim, who was about to stand, sat back down to stare at Link. “I mean, I would rather not walk around after… I would rather wait for the morning. Right here.”

“Okay. Okay, we won’t walk. We’ll sleep.” Ghirahim laid himself down again, a tad closer to Link. There was still a great deal of space between their bodies, but now Ghirahim could speak in a much lower tone and still be heard – 10 minutes later, he tried again. “There’s a lot humans don’t understand about darkness. It closes around us and changes things, makes then sharper, edgier. Maps stop making sense, animals get beast like, trees move around… a path that lead us in the day may betray us in the night. To share the darkness with the wilderness is not an easy task.”

“It’s just the absence of the sun. Everything is just the same.” Link answered, through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t…” he didn’t manage to finish his own sentence.

“Link, I’ve dealt with darkness all my life, I’ve been molded by it. I know enough about it to understand there’s reason and sense in being of afraid it.”

“It reminds me of the Trials.” Link finally said, and Ghirahim turned to look at him. “Those Trials in the Silent Realms. I was never afraid of the dark in the Sky, you know? I would go out and tease the wild Remlins as a kid. But here, it reminds me too much of the Trials. Those were… they were the worst part of… of everything.”

“Really?”

Link snorted at that, and finally turned to look over Ghirahim as well. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble, pal, but yes, really, the Trials were way worse than anything you threw at me those days. You see, I knew you were trying to kill me. That was… I don’t know, expected? I could die by your hand. It would be… it would be a good, honorable, right way to go. No one would claim I wasn’t doing my job, no one could say I was less because I perished under your monsters. You could kill me. Some days, I almost wished for it.”

That took Ghirahim’s breath away. The Hero of the Legend wished for a way out – that was impossible, an absurd. But still, still, the Hero was just human, and Ghirahim – demon lord, the sword, the spirit – had also wished for the same thing, over and over. Who was he to cast stones?

“But not the Trials. The Trials were made for me. The Trials were Zelda’s, Hylia’s, whatever; and they were made for my soul. I should be able to complete them, otherwise I wasn’t worth of my own soul, and that – I couldn’t deal with it.”

“You don’t have a soul, Hero, you are your soul.”

“But maybe I corrupted? Maybe I wasn’t good enough, or valiant enough, or brave or virtuous or strong enough to deserve the soul of the Hero. Maybe-”

“You completed the Trials.” Ghirahim interrupted before Link could list another way he was going to fuck up his own legend.

“I _died_ in the Trials! In every single one of them! Over and over and over again, and you have no idea, how much it hurts to be pierced by a blade into the core of your very, your very existence! My soul, Ghirahim, it felt like… it felt like something that would leave a scar. I feel scared now, in a deeper sense that I can’t…”

Silence.

“And now the night on the Surface reminds you of the Trials?”

“I could sleep inside Temples, you know, or fight the whole night inside those, but never… never outside. I feel like one of those Guardians is going to appear at any second.”

Ghirahim waited, but Link was finished. And still anxious, apparently.

Ghirahim would regret this.

“Would it help if…”

“YES! Yeah, yeah, it would.”

Ghirahim had no idea if Link truly knew what he was aiming at, but whatever, it couldn’t hurt – he brought his blanket closer to Link, and laid down by his side, without touching.

“You know…” Ghirahim whispered, slowly and gently, just as Link got even closer, fingers tangling with Ghirahim’s blanket. “I fucking know what is like to be fucking pierced by a fucking blade, you fucking asshole.”

“… Oh.”

“Yeah. Fucking ‘Oh’.” Ghirahim closed his eyes, Link’s breath close enough to reach his face. “We’ve been at war, Hero. It’s only right we’ve got scars to show. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

The Hero’s small chuckle was the last sound he heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment! I read EVERY ONE and I'll answer it all with love. Thank you so much for reading!


	3. purple dark voids over off-white tiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghirahim is sick, is dying, but he can't forget.
> 
> Hylia is the cause. Hylia is the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> It's 2:30 am, I'm just out of a sex marathon with the boyfriend, I can't feel my legs, I'm not sure if this chapter is boring or not. Hope you like it!

“It smells like unwashed Kikwi’s body odor in here.”

“I’m not sure if I should be more scared of you having such an intimate knowledge of Kikwi’s body odors or of the fact the metaphor is accurate enough that I can actually see it. Smell it. Whatever.”

They had been back in Skyloft since the night before – Ghirahim and Link both agreed that it would be for the best to avoid another panic attack and just go back to Hylia with what they gathered. The next afternoon the girl asked them to meet her in Owlan’s room, to finally cook her first healing potion. The small little officer felt warm and suffocating with the big cauldron she had placed in the mirror. All the plants there didn’t help the feeling either.

“You should both consider shutting up.” Hylia said with a bright smile, the sparkle in her eyes the only warning Link and Ghirahim were going to receive. The fumes were making her hair funny and she had a sort of manic air around her. “Be thankful I was able to do enough with this huge failure of yours.”

“Huge failure? C’mon, you asked for fifteen, we brought you twelve!” Link complained, a hand over his nose – really, he was not the one about to drink _eau de Kikwi_ , the little bitch.

“If your Goddess asks for fifteen, you don’t bring back fourteen, you don’t bring back thirteen. You bring her twenty, you blasphemous imp!”

“Dear Hylia Almighty, we really did try our best. The desert wasn’t very welcoming, I should point out.”

The small girl just stared at him, in silence, the potion glass she had been stirring momentarily forgotten.

“What, you don’t believe me? Ask your Chosen Hero, he was almost eaten by Deku Babas in seven different occasions.”

“Eight.” Link corrected. “The third one you were too busy sinking in the sand to notice.”

“No, that’s not it. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you calling me Hylia in such ordinary situations. I mean, I can understand I’m the Goddess during rituals or inside the temples, and I can joke about it, but I just don’t…”

She looked uncertain, almost lost.

“You _are_ the Goddess, Your Holiness. There’s not a moment, there was never a moment, not even when you had not awaken your true self, when this wasn’t the true.”

“Yes, but I don’t fe-”

“This talk is pointless.” Ghirahim said fast. “Is the potion ready?”

“It has been ready.” Hylia smiled. “I was just adding some sugar and waiting for it to cool down a bit.”

“You _don’t_ have to baby me, Your Holiness. How could you just add sugar to a potion with such rare ingredients? What if it changes the way the flower roots interact with my magic? You shouldn’t try to make this easier for me. I’m sure I can take whatever-” he took a large gulp. “Fucking Demise in Hell, this is terrible!”

“More sugar?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

The potion was truly horrible, but it was over soon, and Ghirahim… didn’t feel any different.

“It’s a treatment, not a fucking miracle.” Hylia answered the unasked question with her usual bluntness. “You want some sort of magic result, you get me more flowers, and maybe some tumbleweeds. I thought you both were the greatest swordsmen in existence, I have no idea why gardening should be such a goddamn challenge.”

“Not today, though.” Was Link’s input. “We already lost most of the day light and there’s no point searching for flowers in the dark, my personal preferences being considered or not. Besides, I already have – oh, wait! You guys should come to meet me later at the Bazaar. We could have a beer and celebrate our first potion.”

So that was Ghirahim’s plan for the night: to get rid of the awful taste of earth and dirt in his mouth by slowly getting drunk in cheap beer and Link’s presence, with the downside of having to deal with Hylia’s identity crises. All in all, it wasn’t a bad plan.

*

The best plans, though, usually lead to terrible conclusions.

Later that night, as he was about to enter the Bazaar, Hylia came to meet him halfway, looking agitated and anxious.

“Hey! Was just looking for you. I was thinking, maybe you shouldn’t drink tonight. We have no idea how the potion will react to alcohol.”

She was lying, Ghirahim could tell easily. Well, the Goddess was never one to tell lies, not even at war – she was always about telling the hard true. That she would chose that moment to start wasn’t very smart of her.

“I… see. Of course.” Ghirahim stared at the small divinity with eyes squinted. “I much appreciate the warning, Your Holiness.” He stepped around her easily. “But I do believe your Bazaar is also known for having a good variety in soups, and I’m quite hungry at the moment.”

“Ghirahim!” Hylia stepped in front of him again, looking impatient. Both her hands were around his arms, now. “You don’t wanna go inside.”

“What will I meet inside?” Ghirahim already knew. He already knew and it already hurt.

“Go back, you asshole. There’s nothing here for you tonight. I’ll make your excuses, you can spare yourself…”

“ _What will I meet_ , Goddess?”

“I’m not the enemy here.”

“You are always the fucking enemy, Hylia. Where’s Link?”

“Sitting inside with Orielle in his lap, being happy as a fucking bird!” she almost yelled. She looked around, realized no one was near, but kept talking in a lower tone. “Why the hell would you want to know that, I can see you getting pale already. C’mon, let’s go, we can talk in the Academy, we should-”

“Let me through, Your Holiness.” Ghirahim said in a tone so low, so broken, he could barely hear his own voice.

“What the hell are you saying now, Ghirahim?”

“Let me fucking through!” he finally dislodged himself from the Goddess hands, stepping away so suddenly she almost fell. “I’m not some porcelain doll you have to take care of. You think some mediocre little bitch is going to break me?”

It happened fast enough Ghirahim couldn’t evade it. The next moment, Hylia had slapped him in the face. Funny.

Such a simple, small gesture – an impatient action from a small girl. Funny, his eyes burned with it.

Funny. Funny.

Funny because it didn’t hurt. Not at all. She was so small, so weak – it was a wonder she was able to slap him in the face at all. It didn’t hurt. But still, still, once again, once again the Goddess was punishing him for being a _bad, dirty boy_ , the unwanted child, the misbehaving dog. The unloved son. Ghirahim couldn’t even look her in the eyes, head turned towards the ground, in the position her slap had pushed him.

“Don’t you dare call Orielle a bitch. She’s a wonderful, decent woman, you asshole, she’s a fucking human being with a life of her own. It’s not her fault you are in love with her boyfriend, she doesn’t even know you exist! So don’t you dare make her the villain in your narrative when she isn’t even a part of it.”

Of course. Of course she would defend the girl, of course Hylia would love and defend and make a safe space for the girl, of course she would care about the girl, of course she wouldn’t mind, not even for a second, _not a single goddamn second in her life_ , was she able to care about Ghirahim’s pain.

( _what about my pain_ , his brain kept yelling, loud, loud, louder.)

“Let me through.”

“You won’t touch her.”

Of course.

“I won’t touch her.” He wanted to burn the little bitch, just to see Hylia suffer. He promised again: “I won’t touch her, Your Holiness. Let me through.”

“What good will it make? There’s nothing inside for you. What good seeing it could possible bring you?”

“I fell in love with the Hero of Legend. I fell in love with Link. I deserve the pain. Let me through.”

“You’re just being stubborn.” She said, stepping back. He could have passed her at any time, he could have disappeared in thin air. They both new it. Still, he sighed deeply when she moved out of the way.

“Well, what can I say? Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.”

*

“…and there’s a goddamn Ampilus serenely rolling around on the other side of the thing, like it’s no big deal! He’s so calm, so sure of himself. How the hell did that fucker climbed all the way there? He doesn’t have hookers!”

The table laughed, and Ghirahim took another sip to avoid the need of a reaction. He could always be excused – he already knew all the stories, since Link was retelling the things that happened in the past two days. Dirtying their memories, sharing their moments. The only moments Ghirahim ever had with him, the only time they had of truly bonding and understanding, Link was just letting everyone else in a dirty bar table know.

To add insult to fucking injury.

At least he wasn’t telling about their night together. About his fears and their closeness. Maybe he wasn’t telling because he was ashamed of needing the support of a demon, embarrassed that he had let himself get comforted by the proximity of such a low creature. Maybe he couldn’t show his minions any sign of vulnerability. What would his girlfriend think?

Wonderful, decent Orielle.

Hylia sat by Ghirahim’s right, almost as glued by his side as Orielle was glued by Link’s. Maybe she thought she could stop any sudden movement, if Ghirahim suddenly decided to start throwing knives. As if he had any stability or enough strength in him to do it right now. He was dizzy and nauseated; a sharp pain in his gut stabbing his insides as the flower moved and stretched. Link loved someone else.

Hylia closed her hand around his wrist.

 _Why?_ he thought. _I still haven’t tried to reach for my dagger_.

“You look sick. Your heart is racing.” She whispered. “Don’t you wanna come outside with me for a second?”

 _Oh_.

“Afraid I’m gonna puke over your soup?”

“If you are, I would suggest you aim at Link’s. He’s the clueless fucker, not me.”

“Hey, you two!” said clueless fucker yelled from over Pipit’s and his girlfriend’s chat. “What are you two so secretive about? You look like a couple of lovebirds whispering like that. I don’t think I even heard Ghirahim’s voice the whole night.”

Even Hylia looked like she was about to throw up.

“You sure you’re not drinking a little too much?” Hylia answered, saving Ghirahim from having to reply. “We don’t wanna have to carry your fat ass to your home.”

“Nah! I’m good, I swear, Zelda. Just celebrating. We did good work yesterday, today we had some real progress, I have this beautiful girl by my side…” he looked lovingly into Orielle’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Ghirahim couldn’t stumble out of the table fast enough.

*

“This could have been avoided.”

“Fuck off.”

Really, now. He could handle the pain and the petals, dark purple petals that felt like sand going through his windpipe, but not a righteous Goddess so sure of her own light.

“Fuck _you_ , okay? I’m only trying to help. I’ve only been trying to help for the whole night, but you’re too stubborn to see it. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

So purple they were almost black, their small bodies burned in their fringes, spread against the white stone tiles of the Academy’s bathroom, floating in the green water of the bath, sticking to Ghirahim’s gloved fingers. They looked like they could suck in all the light. Little dark voids.

“To ask you to let me die in piece would be too much?”

The girl sat heavily by the bathtub. She sighed tiredly, hands in her hair. Ghirahim, still on the floor, still covered in the petals of his sickness, wanted to curl over himself – another disappointment to the ever so disappointed Goddess.

“Ghirahim, there’s no point in torturing yourself over certain things. You knew Link had a girlfriend, you knew seeing they would bring you more pain, why would you want to go through that? You were so much better this morning, you looked so healthy, now look at you! If only you’d let me avoid this-”

“Don’t talk like you’re sorry, Your Holiness. Don’t. I might choke over your curse, but I won’t swallow your hypocrisy.”

“Hypocrisy? What are you talking about? I’ve been by your side-”

“You have never been by my side!”

“-I’ve been by your fucking side even after you’ve tried to kill me over and over!”

“You have never, you are always siding with others, with fucking Orielle! If you’d been by my side only once, if you had any pity, any consideration for your dammed children, I wouldn’t been dying over your curse!”

They were both yelling, Ghirahim had no idea he had any strength left, but apparently he could still argue until his lungs burned.

“This is not my curse-”

“Perfect, good, dignified Orielle-”

“This is not my curse, this is not my making-”

“You don’t even consider my pain-”

“I’ve been doing nothing but considering your pain!”

“Over fucking Orielle!”

“SHUT UP ABOUT ORIELLE!” Zelda – Hylia, always Hylia – yelled finally. “She’s not your fucking problem here. You wanna talk about Orielle? I don’t give a fuck about Orielle. I’ll protect her and I’ll defend her when she’s being unjustly attacked, but I’m not sitting by the fucking bathtub holding her hair as she pukes her life out at 2 am, am I? I’m here, Ghirahim. I have been here since you fell out of the fucking waterfall and nearly _died_ , I’m not by Orielle’s side, I’m here. She’s not the reason you are dying.”

“No, you’re right.” Ghirahim agreed, slowly raising his body, leaning against the tub. His strength was finally gone, and he could only whisper now. “She’s not the reason. You are.”

“This is not my fucking curse.” Hylia said between her fingers, hands covering her face.

It finally downed on Ghirahim: Hylia was claiming she wasn’t responsible for the curse, as if she hadn’t punished his whole race over their search for power. He knew the story – once the Interlopers raised themselves against the authoritarian laws established in Hyrule and tried to claim the Sacred Realm power for themselves, sinking their fingers and claws in all the magic and power they could reach, Hylia came do defend her people, turning in a vengeful Goddess. The Interlopers and their heirs were punished with the curse, and the war over the Three Goddess’ Powers became bloody. This was his origin – punished for their wishes of greatness. Punished because they were better at magic, better at fighting, better at _wanting_. His whole story, his whole origin, was the curse.

And now his Goddess, his betrayer, his unloving mother – this _child_ , this small, fragile girl – claimed she wasn’t responsible.

“We could never be good enough, could we? Don’t you think denying us love was a punishment much too harsh? Did we really deserve that? All of us?”

“I don’t know what to say, Ghirahim. I’ve been telling you, this is not my curse. I didn’t curse you, I didn’t curse your people. I – I’m not sure what did it, but I didn’t do it. Not me, not Hylia. Not ever.”

Ghirahim sighed. The wound was too big. The petals, too dark. Things would be over soon.

“I can’t believe you, Your Holiness. I just… I can’t.”

“I know, Ghirahim.” A small, light hand came to rest on his shoulder, and she barely had any warmth to give. “And that’s a burden we both have to carry.”

*

“Tell me the situation isn’t as ridiculous as I think it is.”

“I… don’t think I have it in me to lie to your face right now.”

Ghirahim laughed. He had to laugh, there was nothing else to do: here he was, naked, unable to raise his body from the bathtub, weak and trembling, and there was the Goddess, Almighty Hylia, except she now occupied the body of an 18 years old skinny girl, and she couldn’t raise him from the cold water.

“Stop laughing, you asshole.” She was laughing as well, head over his shoulder, fingers still gripping his arms. “Why are you so heavy, dude?”

“I’m a sword, you bitch, I’m made of- of fucking metal.” Ghirahim couldn’t stop laughing, he was pass the point of having any modest – the Goddess was beyond caring as well – and pass the point of hating Hylia. Right now he just wanted to go to bed.

“What are you two doing?”

Ghirahim felt Hylia froze. He turned to see Link standing by the bathroom’s door, eyes huge and mouth slightly open.

“Close the door, you’re making me cold!” was Ghirahim immediately response because – well, because yeah.

“If you were dressed, maybe you wouldn’t be so cold.” Link got inside, closing and, this time, locking the door behind him. “I heard some noises, I came to investigate. Are you two okay?”

“Oh, now you come to investigate?” Hylia asked, venom in her voice, finally letting go of Ghirahim. “Now?”

“What?” Link looked dumb. The asshole.

“Don’t mind him, Your Holiness. He was too busy handfeeding his girlfriend to come to our aid when I was drowning in petals.”

“Fucking Hero you are, Link, goddammit.”

“Woah, can you two wait just a second? Why am I being so attacked?”

“’Cause you’re a bitch-ass fuck-boy, Link.” Hylia, sweetly, responded.

“ _And_ you should learn how to knock, fuck-boy.”

“That too.” And she added one last time, for good measure: “Fuck-boy.”

Link raised his middle fingers to both of them, before saying:

“No, listen, last time Ghirahim was sick, Zelda told me you didn’t want me to see you like this. I respected your wishes today, why the hell am I under fire here? You think I wasn’t worried? I trusted Zelda would ask for me if things got out of hand.”

“Oh, I bet you were really worried, down on your sweet little date.” Ghirahim couldn’t stop being jealous any more than he could stop being in love.

“I wasn’t! I came back as soon as you left! You think I was with-”

“Fuck, if I hear this girl’s name one more time tonight I’m gonna bitch slap _another_ fuck-boy, don’t fucking test me!” Hylia threw a wet towel at Link’s head.

“Okaaaaaay. I thought you liked her, Zelda.”

“She’s a wonderful, decent woman.” Ghirahim told Link in his most solemn tone.

Hylia immediately fell to the floor, laughing her ass off.

“I’ll consider you’re both under a lot of stress, ‘kay?” Link said. “Why the hell are you two hanging out on the bath naked, anyway?”

Hylia looked down on herself. “Dude, I’m still dressed. Ghirahim’s the one naked.”

“Why is he naked?”

“Why am I naked in the bath? Oh my, Hero, take a wild guess.”

“Why are you _still_ naked. It’s been two hours.”

Well, he had a point. Back when they finished arguing, giving Ghirahim a bath before tucking him in bed seemed like a great idea – the two of them didn’t think it would be so exhaustive to the sick sword. Now they were both unable to solve the problem at hand.

Hylia looked over Ghirahim from the floor. He could tell what she was thinking. Would they really admit they were so weak that they couldn’t raise Ghirahim from the tub and let bitch-ass fuck-boy Link pose as an Hero once again?

“Just chillin’.” Was Ghirahim response.

“You can’t get up, can you?”

“Of course I can get up, what are you saying?”

“Let me see it.”

“I’ll get up as soon as I feel like it.”

“Do it now.”

“Soon.”

“Now.”

“Why are you giving orders, who died and made you our ruler?” Zelda questioned. “Don’t get up, Ghirahim, I’m a fair maiden and your nakedness will hurt my virtue.”

“Ghirahim, get up now.” Link insisted.

“You heard the lady, I don’t want to hurt her virtue.”

“You two are fucking ridiculous.” Link sighed, walking over the bathtub. Ghirahim immediately put his hands over the Hero’s shoulders, feeling even weaker – but that might be his thirsty for the Hero’s cock, and not exactly his sickness. “Zelda, if you wish to keep your virtue-”

“Ah, shush. Who do you think undressed his ungrateful bitch-ass?” Zelda yawned. “You know what? I’ll leave you to the good care of your wonderful Hero, since _he’s_ not the one who cursed you, and I’m the villain here. You can both have a good night, or go fuck yourselves, whatever, I’m out of here.”

And she really was, slamming the door after her own little speech.

“What the hell was that about?” Link asked, hands still supporting Ghirahim and pulling him out of the tub.

“The Goddess has some trouble assuming her own past mistakes. Or not mistakes. Past decisions.”

“You know it freaks her out when you call her Goddess.” Link reached for behind him, and the next second Ghirahim was enveloped in a fluffy towel. He would probably be overwhelmed by the Hero’s proximity and his own naked, if he wasn’t so pissed off with Hylia.

“And what the hell should I call her? Maybe the two of you enjoy pretending she’s just another mortal, just another human, but I can’t. It was her choices that brought me to my death bed. It’s her curse that will choke me in the end.”

Link was carefully rubbing the towel in his arms, his chest, his shoulders. So, so carefully, slowly drying his body, his whole focus in the expanse of naked skin. Well, that was all fine and dandy, but for one hand, being naked without being in a sexual situation made Ghirahim feel very, well, exposed; on the other hand, he still very much wanted an answer.

“I’m sorry, Link, am I boring you?”

“What?” Link snapped his neck up, eyes meeting Ghirahim’s. “What? No, I, uh, zoomed out. You have a very nice- I mean. What, you know what? Ghirahim, is not about enjoying.” The Hero finally seemed to focus. “It’s not that we enjoy pretending anything. Is that Zelda _was_ just another human for the better part of her life. Of course, she’s now aware of her destiny, and of course that means something, but you can’t ignore the identity she grew into this past eighteen years. I know you were eager to find your enemy in her shoes, but that’s just not happening. You have a story with someone that, I’m sorry, just isn’t among us anymore.”

“Really? And who bitch-slapped me today?”

“Honestly, that’s a fucking tough question because anyone I know could have bitch-slapped you at any given day and I wouldn’t even blink. But if it’s that blondie you’re referring too” Link gestured at the door with his chin; hands busy drying Ghirahim’s hair. “then I’m happy to tell you that’s Zelda. Short, bad tempered Zelda who’s bossy and likes to wake up before dawn. That’s not a mystery, dude.”

“That’s also Hylia.”

“But it’s _also_ Zelda. Don’t forget that. The person she’s comfortable being, the woman she believes herself to be, is not some Almighty divinity that cursed an entire race and faced an holy war. She skipped classes last week to play a game with a stupid clown in that messed up island of his. She behaves like a teenager, it’s who she is, she can’t bring herself to be more than that.”

Ghirahim sighed. Links hands were still in skin, touching his body over the now damp towel. Ghirahim wandered why he wasn’t puking his insides on the floor. Maybe his profound hate was preventing it. His skin felt warm, but his soul carried dark, cold thorns. That bitch had taken even his right to enjoy his beloved.

“She left us, Link. We were her children as well, we were her children _first_. She could never be by our side, she cursed and left us, and now she can’t admit it to my face.”

“Let’s assume, even though I don’t believe it, that Hylia did cursed you. That being said, let me tell you what I think:” Link put the towel around his waist, and began the long, slow journey to the bedroom. “I think you don’t believe in winning a fight through w.o. Too bad, pal. You can either accept Zelda is a terrible substitute for Hylia and focus on your own healing, or you can keep trying to fit the sins of a Goddess in the actions of an eighteen years old. Guess which one seems more reasonable.”

They were finally at Ghirahim’s bed. The demon was exhausted enough to sleep naked, and Link didn’t looked like he was about to judge him. He threw the towel away.

“Fuck being reasonable.”

“You have such a way with words.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Ghirahim resolved. “Tomorrow we go back and find the last flowers.”

“And some tumbleweed.” Link agreed.

“And some tumbleweed. I promise to hold your hand if we have to sleep over there.”

Link’s smile was the last thing Ghirahim’s remember. “I’ll hold you to it.”

*

Ghirahim’s decision of being reasonable wasn’t the easiest one, but at least, working in the desert, he wasn’t faced with Hylia, and he could focus entirely in the demanding task at hand. Occasionally he found himself mumbling “that bitch” under his breath, but it wasn’t vicious enough to make Link aware of it, so Ghirahim figured he was good.

They did end up sleeping in the desert, not so much because they were so desperate to find more flowers, but mostly because Link didn’t figure Ghirahim should be back under the same roof as his Goddess. No wonder the boy was called a Hero.

That didn’t stop the fearless warrior from fearing the night, and laying as close to Ghirahim as decency would allow him to. The night was not unpleasantly cold, mostly because the demon could enjoy the warmth of a certain blond twink.

The morning in the desert came all at once: the darkness was suddenly breached with a bright, white light that dissolved the darkness and the supernatural aspects of the grey night with some sort of affirmative brutality. The day came in a rush, already bright and uncomfortably warm before the first hour in the morning was over.

And amazingly, Link slept on for another two hours.

“C’mon, Hero!” even Ghirahim, head-over-hills Ghirahim who loved the opportunity to stare at the peaceful face of his beloved lying so close together, couldn’t take it anymore. “Will you sleep the whole day? We have places to go.”

“I hate mornings.” Link mumbled, turning even further towards Ghirahim and burying his face in the demon’s cape.

Ghirahim turned his eyes upwards towards the bright sky and waited. This close, he could feel Link’s breath, he could sense his smell, his warmth. This close, Link was everything. He waited for the petals, because surely enough he loved that fragile human nesting in his chest.

They didn’t come.

He felt a bit nauseous, but not enough to gag, not enough to cough. Just something stirring deep in his stomach and nothing more. Link sighed in his sleep – he wasn’t completely back to sleep, but close enough – and cuddled further up, his leg tangling between Ghirahim’s legs. Another, quieter, sight – he was content.

And that was it, really. Ghirahim wasn’t so stupid that this would be a mystery for him for too long: he wasn’t feeling nauseous because the potions were having some effect. That’s why he could stand Link’s hands over his naked body, that’s why he could lay down by his side. Hylia’s, Zelda’s, whatever name was he to call her, was actually healing him.

Ghirahim dared to touch the tip of Link’s bangs with his fingers – the boy just smiled, awake and comfortable, eyes still closed.

This was something, Ghirahim realized. It might not be everything. It might not be life, or salvation, or a new hope. But it was closeness when needed. It was love without punishment.

“I don’t hate them at all.” He whispered into Link’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, your opinions are what keeps me writing! <3


	4. dirty blond hair against pink tinged cheeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension and frustration. Ghirahim gets better, or maybe he gets worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I've just been awake all night to post this chapter today! The writing of this was so slow going, I have no idea why.  
> I think you're going to like the next chapter better, but I do hope you enjoy this one as well.

“You look like you have a hungover.”

“And you look like an asshole. Actually” the girl turned her head slightly, as if lost in consideration. “you have this whole asshole-y look going on for you for a while now. You sure that’s something you want to keep?”

Ghirahim snorted, and then quickly averted his eyes. The Hero deserved the burns the Goddess so effortlessly gave him, but he was still at odds with the girl.

“Why do you look like you have a hungover?” Link insisted.

“I’m a free woman.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“I can’t be free on Tuesdays?”

“Just tell us why you drank.”

“Fuck off, Link, did I ask you to pay for my booze or something? Go ask your girlfriend if she’s been drinking or not, I don’t own you explanations.”

Link sighed. Ghirahim suddenly wished he was anywhere else besides Hylia’s bedroom, asking her to make him another miraculous potion when the young woman was obviously pissed.

“I ask because I care. I’m your best friend.” Link answered, unwavering. Truly a courageous man. “I have good intentions.”

“Well, you know what they say about the road to Hell. It’s paved with good intentions and ungrateful, undeserving little bitches.”

She turned a cold stare at Ghirahim, filled with despise. It was the first time she was acknowledging his presence since they knocked on her door.

“Zelda,” Link whined. “c’mon, you don’t mean that. You know Ghirahim’s just-”

“Your Holiness.” Ghirahim interrupted, eyes lowered. “I think it’s working.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck Hylia and her high horse. Fuck his fear, his cowardice, his pain. Fuck his love. He thought he was above all that, he thought he was ready to die with honor and grace and at least a small amount of pride. Sacrifice himself in the bright altar of his golden Hero. No. No. He was humiliated once more, begging for his life to a Goddess that could only despise him.

Her head snapped at that, he had her full attention.

“You were puking your lungs out three nights ago, how is that working?”

“It’s working. It’s been…” Ghirahim looked her in the eyes, silently conveying what Link couldn’t hear. “easier, lately.”

“I see. No, fuck, I don’t see, but whatever, you say it’s working, I’m a believer.” She smiled minutely, but it didn’t last. “Where’s the flowers?”

“Thank you, Your Holiness.” Ghirahim turned to reach for his bag, but Hylia held his wrist, pulling.

“Would you call me Zelda? Please?” she had pleading eyes, when he was the one begging for his life. How come, how could that be possible?

He stood there, facing the unblinking girl with pleading eyes. She had clear signs of a barely slept night, her hair was messy, her eyes were tired. Still, still, she was so young, a freshness that couldn’t be faked. He was dying: she was the fragile one. He stood there, in silence. Sick, but powerful over her. Denying her of something essential, of something formative, something she was ready to plead for. Denying Zelda of herself.

He was a demon, after all.

“Just give me the flowers.” She said finally, tired. He handed her everything they’d managed to find in their little trip, and she turned her back to them, opening a small chest in her working table, it’s pearly glow pretty. “You’ve both been gone for two nights.”

There was a long silence. After a while, Zelda said it again, hands in her hair. “You have been gone for two whole nights.”

It downed on Ghirahim. She was answering Link’s question.

With her back to them, she kept talking. “I was worried.”

“I was the Lord of the Surface, Your Holiness. There’s not a lot that can happen to me in my realm that I’m not able to handle.”

“Last time I saw you, you couldn’t handle getting out of a bathtub. Things change.” Still she didn’t turn around. “I was worried.”

It finally hit Ghirahim. Hylia had been worried. Worried about him, worried that he might be hurt, that he might have died. Hylia had been drinking, had been awake at night, worried about her most impious child. But she didn’t strike him as a worried mother, but rather as a… friend. Someone who cared about him.

“Just go.” She said, still not looking back. “I’ll call for you both when the potion is ready.”

*

Ghirahim laid by the waterfall top, thinking about murder.

That was a dear spot in Skyloft for him, even though it shouldn’t – that same lake almost buried him, if wasn’t for the Hero’s sense of duty to every single fragile life that crossed his path. But, in that particular spot, the light was pleasant and it was secluded enough, away from Skyloft’s noisy life. No wonder Link chose the spot to kiss Orielle for the first time. Ghirahim coughed, and the next second he spit a handful of pastel pink petals. Fuck it, why was he getting sick over this nonsense again? Zelda was right. Who the hell was Orielle anyway?

Hylia. Hylia was… not right. Maybe so.

It was becoming harder and harder to keep the Goddess persona in mind when faced with the small, blonde teenage human.

Now the murder.

It’s not that he wishes to murder anyone specific. It’s just it would be far more practical to sink his sharp fangs into someone’s neck than have to deal with the good people of Skyloft. One of these days he’s going to push fucking Kukiel over the edge, if the little brat can’t stop screaming just outside his window for Link to come “and take her for a ride”.

(Link says Kukiel is actually fond of Ghirahim. The girl has a demon obsession and Batreaux just gives the demons a bad name, what we all the fussing over the small insect.)

Ghirahim heard climbing sounds, but chose not to turn. If it was Groose – the only one in the island besides the Goddess and her Chosen Hero that actually knew whom and what Ghirahim was – he was going to plunge to the lake once again. He already did that fall once in his lifetime. He would rather face those odds than that fucking pompadour again.

“Surprise, surprise.” Came Link’s voice, devoid of emotion, and soon the Hero’s face showed in his vision: shadowed as it was against the sun, Link’s dirt blond fringe contrasted with his red tinged cheeks, his skin flushed from the weariness of the climb.

His lips reminded Ghirahim of petals, in the most sickening way.

“Oh, Hero of mine. You can’t surprise a Demon Lord, I can always sense your presence.”

“Bullshit, I bet you thought it was Groose.”

Right in one, the boy was good.

“Please, Link, don’t embarrass yourself by doubting my powers.”

Link sat by his side, huffing his lack of belief. He was getting too comfortable with Ghirahim’s presence, the demon noticed. Hidden by the afternoon diminishing light, their legs brushed, just slightly.

The silence stretched for minutes before Link chose to break it.

“When faced with her kindness you are being unnecessarily cruel.”

Of course, Link was deeply attached with the notion of human-girl-poor Zelda. That was his best friend, after all. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact he had grew up around the sacred body of the Almighty. All the scratches, all the mock fights, all the hugs and kisses and punches and tickles, profane fingertips against the holy surface of the Goddess’ skin: it is more comfortable if her destiny was a dream dreamt in another life.

But in the end, wouldn’t it really? If they could all let go of Hylia’s legacy… wouldn’t it be softer? Kinder?

“Trust me: this is me, trying.” It really was.

Link sighed. More silence, and the waterfall seemed way too loud. Finally, Link reached for a bottle in his pouch.

“Zelda told me to give you that.”

The peculiar smell of the Ancient Flower potion (don’t think about Kikwis, don’t think about it) made itself present as soon as Link opened his bottle. Ghirahim sat up.

“She just gave you? She said she would call for us. For me, at least.” Ghirahim took the offered bottle.

“Well, she’s pissed.”

“I noticed.” Ghirahim stuck his tongue out. “She didn’t put any sugar in it this time.”

As he swallowed the rest of the potion, he could feel Link’s eyes on him. A single drop escaped his lips, traveling the expanse of Ghirahim’s neck – Link’s thumb was suddenly on his collarbone, tracing over his adam apple towards his chin, drying the skin with his touch. Shivers raised in the demon's skin as he faced the blond boy’s close stare.

“It might leave a bitter taste, but it’s working. You look way better.” Link’s finger was finally out of his skin, but his eyes burned enough that Ghirahim still felt as if he was being touched. “A handsome devil, indeed.”

“Don’t flatter me, Hero.” Ghirahim whispered back, lowing his tone of voice without thinking. “Death is not pretty.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You don’t look like you’re about to die anymore.” Link’s fingers were back in his face, as if the Hero couldn’t stop touching him, this time tracing his jaw and his cheekbones. “Your skin is soft, your hair looks shiner. You look healthy. Gorgeous, even.” The boy added under his breath.

The seduction was quite clear, and yet, as it would be, quite effective. Ghirahim had to act on it, so act he did: he licked the finger still touching his chin, circling his long tongue over the digit slowly, without breaking eye contact. Link didn’t flinch, didn’t try to back away – he just kept staring, as if enraptured.

“Such a fucking teaser.” The Hero whispered, finally lowering his hand slowly, his finger brushing over Ghirahim’s lips.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Hero?”

Link clearly lowered his eyes to Ghirahim’s lips, before raising them again. “I’m not the same poor little thing you once met, Ghirahim. Not as easily scared.”

Ghirahim stared at the boy sitting beside him. He could not figure the young man’s mind: was he playing a game of seduction for the fun of it?

Cruel, so cruel. But yet, no petal appeared at the demon’s lips, so Ghirahim was going to enjoy the attention while it lasted.

*

(One of these days, though. One of these days Ghirahim was going to eat him whole, and Link would have no one but himself to blame.)

*

“I call bullshit on this one.”

Ghirahim was dirty. Filthy, even. And not in the sexy, spank-me-daddy, kind of way. There was dirt in every part of his body, and he was sure his gloves were ruined beyond any sort of repair his magic could work. There he was, sitting in a hole, the Chosen Hero beside him, sweaty and dirty and downright miserable under Eldin’s sun, the warmth of the lava making everything worse. He tried to dry the sweat in his forehead and immediately regretted: his forearm was so filthy he could feel dirt falling over his eyelashes as he moved.

And seriously, that job was slow and infuriating. To get just a small bit of Eldin’s Ore they had to dig for hours, small bits of mineral being fished out of buckets and buckets of useless dirt. And Zelda asked for 1 kilo of it. They would probably be able to get it in Link’s next generation.

“She sounded really scientific about it.” Link answered, still digging, because the boy was nothing if not obedient.

“Explain to me again.” Link was Ghirahim’s only connection with the Goddess, these days: she didn’t give him his potions, she didn’t visit him anymore, and when she deemed they should start brewing another potion, she didn’t care to tell him directly, but passed the message along her favorite courier boy (Link in a white courier uniform should look yummy enough). So Ghirahim had no idea if Zelda was talking out of her ass or really searching for a cure, since Link was terrible at passing messages.

“Ugh, alright.” Link stops digging for a while, sitting heavily in the manhole they had dug with their gloved hands and scratching dirt all over his blond hair. “So, uhm, she said… something something, immune system, something something, strength, something else, mineral healing. That’s what she said, very wisely, so much science going on.”

“You’re so great with words, it blows my mind.”

Link threw a handful of dirt at Ghirahim’s hair, laughing at his curses. “Fuck off, or I’ll leave you to dig by yourself, asshole.”

“At this rate, I might as well be digging my own grave. This fucking flower will surely kill me before we manage to get more of this damn Ore.”

Link, who was laughing not a second before, immediately lost all humor: he stared at Ghirahim for a full second, and went back to digging, his back turned at the demon.

Amazing. Ghirahim would never guess that someone could dig angrily, and express so with just the muscles of his back, but that was exactly what Link was doing.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you’re enjoying this task just because your dear Goddess ordered you to it.”

“…Just dig, Ghirahim.” His voice was muffled, and he kept digging at an even faster pace.

“No, really. Even if she’s right, this is terribly tiresome, we can both agree.”

“I’m not saying that.” Link sighed heavily, sitting down again. “I’m not happy and I’m not _not_ tired, and I just wish we could go back to Skyloft and take a hot bath, but to me that’s not an option and you keep… ugh!” Link sighed again, turned his back once more to Ghirahim and went back to work. “You know what? Let’s just keep working and we can talk about that later, I’m not sure I-”

Thing is, the job, beyond being tiresome and dirty and incredibly boring, was also a dangerous one: the bomb flowers growing all around Eldin didn’t make it easy. Link was distracted enough he didn’t pay enough attention to the bigger rock he threw somewhere at his right, careless.

As things go, the rock hit a bomb flower, who exploded near their hole. The explosion didn’t hit them, but the dirt came flying way too fast for Ghirahim to move away from it: a small, but pointy, shrapnel hit the demon just over his right cheekbone, stinging enough to warn him he was surely bleeding.

“Fuck, Ghirahim!” the Hero was by his side in the next moment, kneeling over his form.

Ghirahim could heal that in a second. But the second it was healed, Link would not be looking at him anymore, touching his face with shaking fingers and biting his lip with worry. So the demon let it bleed, since a few drops of blood were worth the attention.

“Now that you almost blew us away, do you think we can talk?”

Link’s eyes travel from the cut in Ghirahim’s face to the demon’s eyes, never less worried. “Let’s go get this cleaned. Actually, let’s go get cleaned and ready to rest, it’s almost sundown anyway. We ain’t getting any more ores today. We can talk when we have less dirt on ourselves.”

Link lifts him with careful hands, as if he’s terribly wounded – the cut isn’t deep, and Ghirahim was once stabbed by this little shit through his chest. They walk towards the only source of clean water they had found early that day, a hot spring near the entrance of the volcano. The whole way Link stays near, a hand going to Ghirahim’s lower back every time they needed to climb another slope. Still, he doesn’t smile. It’s a weird climb.

“Take off your shirt. And those fucking gloves, for Hylia’s sake.” Link orders, when they get to the natural pool.

Ghirahim takes off his shoes as well, watching as Link does the same – by that point, they were both used to being naked around each other, and even though Ghirahim can’t deny the desire of licking the Hero’s naked form, he’s not one to be creeping on someone else’s nakedness as they try to shower. There should be no reason for Link to keep his pants and ask for the demon to the same, except for something that becomes clear as soon as both of them get in the water: Link plans to wash Ghirahim’s wound, staying close and taking care of the demon’s cleaning.

If the climb was weird, the washing was surely weirder, with Link’s hand touching him way too much: unsure fingers that took care of every single speckle of dirt near Ghirahim’s face, washing it slower than necessary. And then those fingers were combing through the demon’s hair, making it white again – it sure as hell was in a very different color after a whole day of digging. Link made him sink and get up a few times, but finally Ghirahim couldn’t feel mud clinging to his locks anymore. Still, Link kept entangling his fingers through Ghirahim’s skull, a gentle massage.

Then he moved lower.

As if intent in making Ghirahim forget that he was being washed by him, the young man finally started talking, in a low tone of voice that didn’t carry much emotion.

“It’s just, it’s hard, Ghirahim. We are all trying our best here, and I know we haven’t been in the best terms in the past. I know you’re taking it harder than anyone. You lost the war, you lost the love of your life. There was a lot at stake for all of us, but the difference is that we get a second chance. Well, we’re trying to get you a second chance as well. I’m trying, Zelda is trying. But you are either too busy alienating us with hostility, especially towards Zelda, or you are making fun of dying, as if you already gave up. We all agree you are getting better, why do you have to talk as if you’re about to die?”

“Were you offended about a silly joke I made out of frustration?” Ghirahim asked, taking some distance to look back at Link, but not enough to dislodge the hands currently scrubbing his back (since that actually felt quite good).

“I’m not offended, I shouldn’t – I don’t have the right to get offended, or hurt, or angered. It’s your life, your health…”

“My death.”

“But that’s-” Link started in a rush, and then stopped himself. Ghirahim could feel him taking a long breath, hands immobile on the demon’s shoulders as he tried to regain control over his temper. He tried again. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We are past the point where this flower might be a death sentence. We are healing you.”

“Link.” Ghirahim turned, sure that his back was clean and also sure Link needed to understand once and for all. “Just because I’m not dying today, doesn’t mean I’m not dying anymore.” Link stubbornly stared the demon’s hands, as he cleaned every nail. “As far as we know, the Goddess’ magic managed to buy me more time and to avoid the pain. I’m thankful for it, you can believe it. But I’m not safe. The one I love can never love me back. There’s no cure.”

Link stopped pretending to wash and just held both of Ghirahim’s hands between their own, his fingers rough from the mud in them. Still, he looked down.

“I refuse to think that way.”

“Link, why do you have tears in your eyes?” Ghirahim gave a small laugh. “Those are not news. We always knew-”

“No.”

It was time for Ghirahim to sigh. He turned the boy around – if Link needed to let a few tears fall, he would be more comfortable, even though he didn’t look like he was about to cry – and started to give back the favor and washing Link’s hair.

“It’s easier for me to keep my hopes down.” He said, after a while, fingers carefully disentangling Link’s messy hair. “You want to believe courage is born out of hope, but sometimes the only way we can convince ourselves to keep going is by forcing ourselves not to care too much. You think it’s easy? If I had truly given up, I wouldn’t be humiliating myself before the Goddess. But I don’t want to be crushed by reality after living in dreamland for a short period of time. I’m not giving up. But I can’t afford to be too hopeful. I have to accept I may not survive this.”

He allowed himself to touch Link’s neck, wash his shoulders, his collarbones. The Hero’s skin was warm. Ghirahim was amazed he was allowed to touch.

“I’ll be hopeful for both of us, then. I don’t believe we’ll lose you.”

“I should surely hope I’m not easy to lose.” Ghirahim licked just behind the boy’s ear, both hands circling around Link’s waist. His next words were said just over the Hero's shoulder, against his neck. “I am a big boy, after all.”

That earned him a chuckle, even if he could feel Link getting shivers.

“I’ll tell you when I’m impressed, how about that?”

“I can be _very_ impressive.”

Link laughed freely at that, throwing his head back over Ghirahim’s shoulder, his whole body supported by Ghirahim.

“I’m sure.” He turned his face towards the demon, a small smile on his lips, eyes sparkling. “How about I see it for myself one of these days, uhm?”

“Don’t make empty promises, Hero of mine.”

“I never do.” Link looked over and then they were staring at each other, unblinking eyes glued.

The moment stretched way too much. Stretched until it became undeniable that it was A Moment, and then it kept on going. Ghirahim couldn’t bring himself to move away.

Finally, Link did.

Without a single word, the Hero dived into the pool, swimming away.

*

On their second day at Eldin, another bomb went off, but this time it was Ghirahim's fault and he almost killed one of those hole digging creatures Link liked to treat as “friends” and “cognitive developing beings”. Ghirahim was not going to cry any tears over dead mogmas, but Link was quite distressed. Half the day was lost trying to dry the sad tears of some random mole with a scare.

That night Link didn’t even pretend he was going to sleep anywhere else besides Ghirahim’s personal space.

*

By the third day, though, Link was back at behaving weirdly – the morning had started well enough, what with Ghirahim waking up to the fact they were spooning. His hand automatically flew to caress Link’s arms, Ghirahim’s nose buried in the man’s hair: if the sleepy sounds were anything to go buy, Link was pleased with both the caress and waking up as the little spoon.

The next moment, though, the Hero sprints awake and away from Ghirahim, mumbles something unintelligible, and disappears to take a piss. When Ghirahim asked “Is everything okay?”, the only answer he got was “I just remembered something.” The day is awkward, but not unpleasant.

*

Their fourth day at the Surface searching for the hardest metal to come along was filled in equal parts with laughter and complains.

They’d take to play a game of “what could I buy if I sold all this Eldin’s Ore in the black market”, inventing increasing ridiculous things to buy to get a laugh out of each other and pass the time. So far, they had fictionally bought:

1\. A castle (Ghirahim’s);  
2\. A new roommate (Link’s);  
3\. Kukiel’s legal guardianship from her parents (both Link and Ghirahim were fond of the idea);  
4\. Groose’s silence (Ghirahim);  
5\. Rented out the Goddess’ statue as a bedroom (again, Ghirahim);  
6\. Dodo’s island, just to kick him out of it (a very pissed out Link demanded)  
7\. A Demise’s cock look-a-like dildo, completed with a warm come spurting system (surprisingly, that one was Link’s, but he claimed he would gift Ghirahim with it).

Their little list almost made Ghirahim choke twice, but it was totally worth it.

Not as much fun was to listen to Link complain about getting back to Skyloft for the whole day. Ghirahim was also tired of digging, but he also knew that, back at Skyloft, Link had a life (and a girlfriend) of his own. The way the Hero kept saying he wanted to be back as soon as possible could not stop stinging as a rejection for the demon.

Oh well, Ghirahim considered his options as he pulled a single petal that had being scratching the back of his throat. They can’t live in a bubble forever. Eventually, even all the Eldin’s Ore in the Surface couldn’t buy Link’s exclusivity.

*

The fifth day felt amazing, since they both found a place with enough Ore to fill their bags to the brim. They could have probably finished the whole mission in one day if they’d found the spot before, but they were both so happy they weren’t about to consider the what-ifs.

As they play-fought in the natural pool, Link laughing as he splashed water towards Ghirahim’s hair, the demon couldn’t help but wonder if his luck wasn’t finally changing.

*

But the thing was, he had been right before. Too much hope was going to be his undoing.

*

With all the Ore collected, they were finally free to get back to Skyloft.

“Heaven’s sake, I never thought I was going to be happy to see those ugly little houses again.”

“Yeah, it’s good to be back.” Link answered, distractedly looking around. They had just touched the ground not a moment ago.

“And to think I’m actually missing Henya’s horrible soup, could you imagine that?” Link didn’t answer, still searching for something beyond Ghirahim’s line of sight. “What’s the matter, Hero? Would you be my company in a drink at the-”

“Hey, Pipit!” Link clearly hasn’t been listening, or if he had, he wasn’t interested in the invitation. “Have you seen Orielle?”

“Hey, you guys are back, how was-”

“I’ll tell you later, man.” Link interrupted, rudely. “We’re both fine, I just need to find Orielle.”

“Damn, Link, you know how she is. She’s probably flying.”

“Probably? You think she’s flying, or you know she’s flying? I really need to see her, man.”

“Okay, easy!” Pipit laughed at that. “So eager to see your girl, uhm? I know how that goes. I haven’t seen her, but I think Cawlin was talking about meeting her, he was headed for the Bazaar.”

“Thanks, man!” Link was out in the pointed direction in a second, without looking back and without saying goodbye.

Eager to see his girl.

Ghirahim could feel the world spinning, and he only had the strength for one magic disappearing act before he was reduced to a sick mess, curled in himself in his bedroom floor as the petals came in wave after wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send me your thoughts! I read all the comments and I'll answer tomorrow, okay? Thank you so much for reading! You comments make my day!


	5. golden sunrays as they reflect in clear water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda has yet another theory for Ghirahim's healing, and Link behaves as the honorable knight we all grew to love.
> 
> ...for the best part, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there, lil' demons!
> 
> I might be going out of my job soon (because I'm PISSED! <3) but I'll always find time to write you guys another chapter no one asked for.
> 
> Okay, I actually liked writing this one. You guys we'll see the reason soon enough.
> 
> Please send me your thoughts!

They knocked three times, yelled at the fourth. Still, the door remained closed.

This time, there weren’t knocks on the door. He could hear a key being turned on the lock, and then the door was open for the blonde girl.

She stood on the threshold.

“Oh, good.” Sarcasm was dripping from her voice. “You’re alive.”

“What is this absurd? You should have knocked.” Ghirahim said, and his voice sounded miserable even for his own ears.

“You should have answered Link all the times _he_ knocked, would have saved us both this joyful little talk.” She stepped inside the room, kicking the petals as she walked inside. They were scattered all over the floor. “That’s what you call getting better?”

“Did you came all the way to laugh one last time, you bitch?”

“No, _you_ bitch. I came to see if you really were fucking dead, locked in your room, and the only thing preventing us to smell your body was the stupid flower that ended your disgraceful life.”

“And they say I’m the drama queen! It hasn’t even been a day, my body wouldn’t be rotten by now.”

“You look rotten enough from where I’m standing.”

“Fuck you, Zelda!”

She stopped. For a moment Ghirahim considered his own words – had he pushed too far, stepped over a limit? Sure, he wished to see her gone and he wished to offend her, but not too much, not to the point of… No, that wasn’t it. She was smiling: an open, joyful smile as if – oh, fuck.

Fuck.

“Yo-Your Holiness,” Ghirahim was quick to add, tripping over his own tongue. “if I wasn’t answering the door maybe that should have clued you and your brainless excuse of an Hero that I didn’t want to see anyone. Your Holiness.”

Zelda’s smile didn’t diminish.

“Yeah, well, whatever, who cares about what you want.” She dismissed his words with a wave, still smiling. “Tell me, were you this sick in the Surface?”

The non-sequitur threw him off for a second. Honestly, Ghirahim first considered telling her to fuck off, but then again, she held his only shot at healing, so maybe it was productive to tell her about his sickness.

“I wasn’t, no. I didn’t vomit a single time over those last five days.”

“And did you kept near Link?”

“No, I left him to dig out those damn rocks on his own and went on my merry way to do some tourism sighting at Lanayru sea.” Zelda threw him a book, that hit him straight in his forehead. “Own, you asshole cow!”

“Hey, watch your language.” She laughed, walking towards his bed. “Go back to call me Your Holiness, I like that more.”

“Do you, really?” Ghirahim asked, as the girl stopped by his bedside.

They stared at each other, and even the air seemed to shift. The whole room smelled like the petals of the cursed flower, and there, standing barefoot among those petals, was Hylia incarnated, his Goddess and enemy, Sacred Hylia, shining with the light of the Triforce, the Mother of all life, Hylia Almighty. She bit her nails, an anxious habit she couldn’t shake.

Zelda’s habit.

“Of course not, you fucktard, what have I been telling you. Move over, I wanna lie down.”

“We can’t fit us both in this bed.”

“Of course we can, move your fat ass.” She lied down, picking up the book she threw at him not a minute before. They both actually fit in the bed, lying side by side. She opened the book in a page. “Look here, o ye, of little faith. Link told me you thought I was bullshitting you.”

“Link is a gossip little pussy.”

“You won’t see me telling you otherwise. Anyway, I got the information from this book, among many others.”

Ghirahim studied the page. There was a barely recognizable drawing of an Eldin’s Ore and paragraph after paragraph of the smallest written the demon had ever seen. If the size wasn’t the matter, the whole thing…

“It is not written in Modern Hylian, what the hell is that?”

“That, sweetie, is Gora.”

“Is what, now?”

“Gora. The Gorons’ language.”

“The Gorons’ have a language?”

“What do you mean, the Gorons’ have a language, Ghirahim? Of fucking course they have a language, what are you even saying?”

“What do they need a language for, they are rocks.”

“They are _sentient_ rocks.”

“They don’t have clothes! What good is language for a race that doesn’t even wear clothes?”

“Now you are simply being racist. Some of them use a sort of… Goron… thong… thing.”

They stared at each other. Then the ridiculous of the subject got them both, and they started to laugh, uncontrollably.

“Tru-trust me, Zelda, I am sure we are all _very_ grateful for the Goron thong thing, I-I can only i-imagine what we would have to, oh dear, we would have to _face_ if they didn’t wore the… I can’t.”

Zelda laughed even louder at that, hiding her face in his chest.

“Now, seriously.” Ghirahim asked after he sobered up. “How do you expect me to read this?”

“I don’t. I translated that for you.”

Zelda pulled from inside the book another page, this time obviously written by her hand. It was in Modern Hylian, alright. It was also three sentences long.

“That’s what it says?” Ghirahim asked, disbelief in his voice.

“Uhum.”

“That’s what it says in those pages? Those five lines?”

“Four. Look, I wasn’t going to translate the whole thing, fuck off, that’s just, you know, the abstract. The highlights. The big stuff.”

“Alright, I’ll buy.” Ghirahim stared at the translation for another second. “With your handwriting it might as well be written in rock language, I can’t understand shit.”

“Give me that.” She started to read it out loud. “ ‘The Ore has also proven to be a very valuable ally in the fortification of the immune system against different forms of attacks, including magical ones. Possessions and witchcrafts that feed on the victim’s body, taking it from the inside and causing its weakness, can be fought and even cured through the many uses of the Ore’s healing powers, especially if ingested through infusions. The same was thoroughly observed with curses from the parasitic kind, such as the Thunder Vermin and the Hanahaki Flower, also known as the Demon’s Love Curse.”

She finished reading, a shit-eating smile on her face.

“Thunder Vermin sounds nasty.” Ghirahim considered out loud. “But anyway, what do Gorons know about the flower curse?”

“Ores are rocks. They are rocks. If rocks don’t know about rocks, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You… might have a point.” Ghirahim sighed. “Okay, so you’re going to make me another potion.”

“Already did, Demon Lord of the Whining.” She pulled a bottle from her pouch. Who was going to tell the good people of Skyloft that pouches were tacky? “Behold, Eldin’s Ore potion.”

Ghirahim took the bottle with the clear liquid inside. He opened carefully, since he was balancing it to not fall on himself or on Zelda and sniffed – the liquid had no smell. Finally, he took a large gulp.

“This is fucking water.”

“What? Fuck you, Ghirahim, this is Ore’s infusion.”

Ghirahim stared at the girl, unbelieving. “Zelda, you are giving me a fucking bottle of water. Warm water at that, I would prefer it cold.”

“It’s the infusion. The Ore doesn’t leave a particular taste or smell, but it’s mineral proprieties are transfused to the boiling water when infused.” She looked very sure of herself.

“And you are certain you left it ‘infusing’ long enough? I was recluse for only a day, we discussed that already.”

“Trust me, your tantrum gave me time enough to do this. It only takes an hour.”

“Says who? The rocks?”

“You know what? Fuck off, I don’t own you explanations.” She reached for the bottle. “Give me that, I’m out of here.”

“No!” Ghirahim yelled, in a higher pitch that he would have liked to assume. “You made it for me.”

“So drink it, dude.”

Ghirahim swallowed the rest of the tasteless, colorless, odorless potion, feeling a bit ridiculous. He felt the girl was going to yell “YOU’VE BEEN PUNKED!” at any second, but the moment never came. He laid back down, staring at the ceiling. As with all the other potions, nothing happened: no tingling feeling, no magical sparks, no shiver, no special song. Just the sound of Zelda’s breathing by his side, quietly.

“Is that it? That’s the whole potion you were able to do with a whole kilo of that damn dirt?”

“No, of course not.” another pouch, and this time she produced a bigger flask. “I saved some for you to drink later. I think it would be for the best if you drank it tomorrow or the day before, when you and Link are back at the Surface.”

Ghirahim sat up again. He sighed, tiredly.

“I won’t go back to the Surface with Link. I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? This time we need –”

“I mean, look around! Look at this room. I’m weak, I’m trembling. You want to know why I didn’t answer Link? The first time I couldn’t even get up enough to do it! This is it, Zelda, this is what I’ve been finally reduced to. Either the Ore works it’s miracle, or I won’t live much longer. The final days of the Sword of the Imprisoned.”

“You have been worse.”

“I also have been better.”

It was Zelda’s time to sigh. She tangled her fingers in her hair, deep in thought, staring at the room’s floor: dark pink petals scattered around, the signs of Ghirahim’s pathetic spasms that he didn’t even had the strength to clean. The unfinished apple, forgotten in the table; his travel clothes rumpled over a chair, the place he threw them before taking a shower. Ghirahim knew his bedroom reflected his weakness. But he was tired, so tired too pretend he was okay, and the energy necessary to put his life together was suddenly too much.

Zelda sat up as well.

“Okay. Okay, Ghirahim, just. Okay. I didn’t want to tell you that because it might be too soon, but I have a theory.”

Ghirahim felt himself being hooked. This was a con. This was Hylia promising him a cure all over again. This was empty promises and false hopes.

(but still, what if it wasn’t? what if he could, still, one more time, hope?)

“Does it involves rocks? ‘Cause I’m not digging any more shit.”

“Sweetie, if I tell you to dig, you ask me how deep.” She winked, smiling. “No, the thing is: you feel better in the Surface. Maybe your magic reacts, gets weakened, by the Skyloft atmosphere. You have to remember you weren’t even able to set foot on this place before, it was made to keep the demon kind out. Or maybe, maybe the opposite happens – maybe you get stronger by the Surface, because it is your realm, you are the Demon Lord of the Surface. Your strength might be attached to the Surface and it’s magical miasmas. I think going back can actually save you. How long were you in the Sky before you started to feel sick? One hour, two?”

“Fifteen minutes.” Ghirahim answered. He didn’t mention it was trigged by Link’s sudden passion for Orielle, because Zelda might have a point: Orielle couldn’t be the problem here.

“You see what I’m talking about? The moment you’re back, you feel sick. Do you remember your first trip? And the second? I couldn’t even believe it, I left you too weak to move, two days later you’re looking like a model. The Surface is where we’ll find your cure, and being locked up in a room in Skyloft will not help you. Unless you would rather die feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Ha fucking ha. Don’t try to challenge me, little girl, this kind of opposite logic doesn’t work on me.” Except, of course, it had already worked and he was already making plans. “But Link doesn’t have to come with me this time. You said so yourself, the first time we talked – being near doesn’t help me. I can handle this myself, anything you want me to seek.”

“I said being a stalker didn’t help. I know you might want some distance from Link, hell, everyone wants some distance from Link every now and then-”

“That poor thing, Fi.”

“Yeah, can you imagine her sacrifice? But anyway, he’s our only option. You’re are too weak and Faron Woods’ still filled with random Bokoblins, which I bet are not too happy with your less than stellar leadership.”

“Wait, go back. Faron Woods?”

“Yeah, I need you to find me some Amber Relics this time.” Zelda got up from the bed. “Ten or something, it shouldn’t be a challenge. They’re really easy to come by. So yeah, sucker up, you’re going to have to deal with the Wonder Boy for a few more days.”

“Are you forgetting that being in love with that asshole is what got me sick in the first place? I should be as far away from him as possible if I want to be healed!”

“Non-sense, I’m leaving you this flask with the infusion, you’re going to be fine.” She dismissed quickly, fixing her braids.

“You’re leaving me a flask with water and saying I should hope for the best? He’s not our only option, you could come with me.”

“Yeah, well, but I couldn’t, now could I?” Zelda was already by the door.

“Wait, why not?” Ghirahim yelled.

“Don’t want to! You guys leave tomorrow! Good luck!” she yelled from the hall, already out of the room.

*

“Do you have a fever?”

No, Ghirahim doesn’t have a fever. He’s pretty sure he explained to this imbecile exactly how the flower was going to kill him, and there was no fever in any part of the explanation. He was shacking and trembling because the travel to the Surface had been fatiguing, and his magic was being drained with the effort of keeping the flower from killing him, what with the memories of Link running away to see Orielle playing over and over in his mind. He coughed up suddenly, a handful of petals filling his hand.

But yet, was he really ready to explain all that to Link? No, he wasn’t. Fuck it.

“Yeah, I have a fever.”

“Look, just- Okay, you know what? Just sit here. Yeah, here.” Link helped him sit down in a log, just under a big tree. The place was beautiful, as most of Faron Woods, and Ghirahim was actually grateful in just rest for a second. “Zelda told me her theory that you heal faster in the Surface. I believe she’s right, you were way better in Eldin that you are now. So maybe we should focus on having you resting today, drinking your potion thing and sleeping a little. We can try to search for the Amber Relics tomorrow, we’ll find those easy. Just get your magic back in place.”

Ghirahim leaned back, his back against the trunk of the tree, feeling his hair falling over his face. He was tired, so very tired. So very tired of wanting this stupid human, this worthless breathing animal that only cares about his pretty little thing, his lovely little girlfriend. Ghirahim didn’t want to feel it anymore, didn’t want to struggle with being unwanted, unloved, undesired. Worse. He didn’t want to feel Link’s affection only to have it ripped away from him the moment the beautiful girl crossed his path.

But of course.

Of course Link would play and flirt and tempt him. Ghirahim was a demon. Their whole dynamic had always been about sex, about improper touches and whispered innuendos. That Link would eventually answer to those touches and tease a little himself was natural. It didn’t actually mean anything.

And, on the other side of the spectrum, of course Link would _care_. Just as Ghirahim always predicted, Link would worry about any lost soul that needed saving. He would go to the end of the world and back just for a chance to be the Hero. That he was, once again, back in the Surface with Ghirahim only meant the boy, once again, fulfilled his place as the Goddess’ virtuous Chosen One.

It was all so tiresome. So tiresome that Ghirahim could have been naïve enough to believe all those little gestures meant anything. Without Zelda’s presence, talking insane theory over insane theory and making new plans, Ghirahim’s small hopes all but vanished. It left only the exhausting notion that that they were still discussing healing, potions, magic, when everything he wanted to do was just lay down for a while.

Actually.

“You know what, Link?” Ghirahim asked, incapable of projecting his voice very far. “I think you are right. I’ll lie down for a while, if that’s okay with you.”

“Really?” The boy looked surprised. Ghirahim laughed.

“You thought I was going to resist? I’m terribly sorry to bear bad news, but I’m afraid I’m not in optimal shape right now. You can go hunt down those shinning little gimmicks if you wish so, I think I’ll go to sleep for a while.”

“Yeah.” Link shook his head. “No, I mean, I won’t leave your side. Here, drink this. Zelda told me this should make you feel stronger.”

“Better stay hydrated, right?” Ghirahim winked at Link, who looked quite uncertain. He slowly lifted himself from the log, drinking the water-like potion all the while and choosing a better suited spot for lying down his few bed time preparations. Finally, he finished his make-shift bed and laid, ready to sleep for the whole day.

Link was still staring at him.

“By the Goddess, is this already my funeral and no one told me? What the hell are you doing standing there for, are you going to watch me sleep? Don’t be a creep!”

“You…” Link looked lost. Ghirahim wanted to slap him. “You are still shaking.”

Ghirahim sighed. “Didn’t we agree already I have a fever?”

“Oh.” The boy was still standing in the same damn place. “Are you cold? With just that blanket?”

 _No, because I don’t actually have a fucking fever._ “Uhm, I guess?”

“Here, let me lay down with you.”

Oh, so this was what this whole thing was about. It was spoon-the-demon time.

“You don’t have to-” too late. Link was already hugging him from behind, his head pressing between Ghirahim’s shoulder blades, an arm around the demon’s waist.

“Yofh-uamer-is-way?” he heard the boy ask, voice muffled by Ghirahim’s clothes.

“I’m what-what-what way?”

“I asked you if you’re warmer this way.” Link repeated, putting his face over Ghirahim’s shoulder, his words breathed over the other’s neck.

“Oh. Yes, sure, I am.”

“Good. You’re still trembling, though.”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to just lie down, Link?” Ghirahim wondered. “Because it’s still just the afternoon and I’m pretty sure you’re not sleepy.”

“I could sleep. I love sleeping.”

“Late night with that girlfriend of yours?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Ghirahim regretted them. Link tensed behind him, and their bodies were touching enough that Ghirahim could feel his deep intake of breath. Why would he ask something like that? It was like he was begging to die on the spot, choking in every thought of Orielle living happily ever after with Link.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

Wait.

“Wait, what?”

“She’s not.”

“Link, I thought-” Ghirahim turned a bit, and Link raised his body enough that they were looking into each other eyes.

“Ghirahim, I have no idea what game do you think I’m playing here, but I was never one to start things I wasn’t planning on finishing.” Link was serious and firm, his eyes were searching Ghirahim’s face. “And I’m not one to pretend things aren’t happening either, just because I can get away with it in a technicality. I would not keep this up and lie to Orielle, not even a lie of omission.”

“Keep… this up?” Ghirahim stared at young man. What kind of surreal reality had they fallen into?

Link looked away, blushing. “Well, it’s… it’s not a good time to talk about it. You have a fever. And I won’t pressure anything, especially since I know you… Well, I know why you are sick, and I know where your affections were. Are. Anyway. Yeah, you have a fever, we can discuss things later. You need to rest.”

Link laid back down again, hugging Ghirahim tight. Fuck this imaginary fever.

“You’re treating me as if I’m made of glass.”

“You have a fever.” Link repeated for what was surely the tenth time, smiling against his nape, and suddenly every gesture from the boy felt like the calculated teasing they were. “You need to heal your boo-boo.”  
Apparently, Ghirahim was going to have to take his nap, wanting it or not.

 

“I can kick your ass.” Ghirahim whispered as he closed his eyes, fingers lacing with Link’s.

“I know, babe.”

*

There are pleasures in life. Pleasures. Pleasures. Lying down with your beloved one, feeling him breath over your skin, as your hear the delicate sounds of life in other parts of the wood moving slowly through the leaves. Pleasure. The fingers that suddenly tighten over your chest, as he inhales your hair, just to relax in the following moment. Pleasure. The light pouring through the trees, slowly changing, until there’s no more light. Pleasure. _Let’s stay a while longer. We have nowhere else to be._ Pleasure. _Just go back to sleep._ Pleasure. The cold wind of the night bringing you both even closer. _We can get up in the morning._ Pleasure.

Ghirahim was overwhelmed by it, but in a quiet, light way. His body, rested. How could a few hours of sleep change everything?

Blessed be Hylia.

*

“I’m going to kill all six of them.”

Link clicked his tongue.

“No, you’re not. Four, tops.”

“All si-i-ix!” Ghirahim singsong, grinning, careful to keep his voice low.

“You get five if you’re lucky.” Link moved from their hiding spot for a second, to get a better at the valley down where the Bokoblins were gathered. “The sixth one is hidden behind the tree and the fifth one is moving around too much, trying to dislodge that arrow. You’ll get four.”

Ghirahim snapped his fingers. The six daggers floating over the valley all sunk at the same time, before any Bokoblin could notice their presence. One of them went through the tree and sunk right at the sixth Bokoblin heart.

“Watch me go, Skychild!” Ghirahim fist pumped the air, laughing like a manic. “Do you know how to count after four?”

Link whistled, smiling big. “Damn, those things hurt. I still have a scar in my left thigh from the time I didn’t move fast enough.”

“Oh, poor thing!” Ghirahim flipped his bangs, showing his tongue. “You’re going to let daddy lick it better?”

“As long as you don’t call yourself daddy, I have a few scars I wouldn’t mind being licked.”

Fuck, the boy was good.

Ghirahim was feeling – Ghirahim was feeling _wonderful_. Ghirahim was feeling super, healthy, strong, and probably a little bit sexually frustrated because sleeping, and just sleeping, with the person you badly want to fuck will do that to you, but honestly, things were better than great.

“You see, Zelda was right all the time. You really get so much better in the Surface.”

Ghirahim kept searching the pockets of the dead Bokoblins – seriously, what a bunch of useless monsters, no wonder he didn’t win the war – after some Amber Relic they might find. Bokoblins loved shinny things, and so far he and Link had only managed to find three stones in the wild.

“Zelda was right _all the time_ is not a sentence you can expect to see me saying any time soon, but yeah, she might have hit something with the Surface theory. Or that warm water she gave me is actually making some difference.”

“Or both. The thing is, it’s working. I haven’t seen you using so much magic in ages. Fuck, I haven’t seen you using so much magic since you were aiming your daggers at me.”

“Don’t hold grudges, love.”

“Never. Aha! Found one, six to go. Let’s go search near Skyview, I could always get some there.”

*

It happens in Faron Woods after all, over the smallest thing.

The day had passed in a blur of dead Bokoblins, scared Kikwis and sexual innuendos. Link kept his flirting, Ghirahim kept his flirting, but no one touched more than a few roaming hands disguised as simple camaraderie. The weather was warm and sunny, and the light had been generous with them for the whole day. As the day turned gold and the sun was almost setting, Ghirahim was euphoric with the adrenaline of the killing, the hunting, the hiking and inebriated with Link’s presence.

He took his distance, ran over the top of one of Faron Wood’s hills, and threw himself head first into the clear water, his lean body sinking deep in an elegant curve.

When he emerged, he was naked.

(he was a demon, after all. he didn’t have to play fair.)

“Never saw you taking your clothes of.” Link said. The human wasn’t shying away: he kept staring at Ghirahim with hungry eyes. Perfect little courageous Hero.

“Didn’t want to wet it just yet.” Ghirahim winked at him, walking in his direction. “Link, would you be a dear and get a cloth out of my bag? I don’t want to drip water into everything. I need to dry my hair.”

“Sure thing, madam.” Link did as asked, but as he extended his hand to give the cloth, Ghirahim pouted.

“Won’t you help me?”

Link smiled, looking down. He might have wanted to just escape Ghirahim’s eyes, but what he saw made him blush even harder. Perfect.

“Damn you, Ghirahim.” Link raised both his hands, drying Ghirahim’s hair gently with the cloth. “You shouldn’t tease me like this.”

“Who says I’m teasing?” Ghirahim reached Link’s waist with one hand, but still kept his distance.

“It’s cruel. I know you think you are being charming, but I have already made myself clear. There’s no point in proving I’m attracted to you. It’s not fair to tease if you’re not going to go ahead.”

“What I fail to see, Hero of mine, is what gives you such belief that I’m not willing to go through with it.”

Link stared up into his eyes, searching, his hands unmoving.

“What about Demise?”

For a second Ghirahim couldn’t even understand what was being asked. Demise, what the hell Demise had to do with- Oh. Oh fuck, yeah, sure, the lie. He was in love with Demise, of course, and this kid was an idiot. Sure. How the fuck does he justifies that? Suddenly being naked and half way too hard seemed like terribly timed.

“Demise. Uhm. Yeah, no, sure, Demise. The thing is, Link… he is… dead. There’s nothing left to be faithful too. It’s not like I’m cheating him. The fucker died and is almost taking me with him; don’t you think I deserve to live a little before he manages to do that? Besides, we are demons, not monks. Do you really believe we ever kept a monogamous relationship?”

“Oh.”

Really, where else was he going to find such a stupid twink? The Goddess was truly amazing with this one, hashtag blessed.

“Yes, dear Hero, ‘oh’. Can we go back to more pressing matters? Because Demise is not getting more dead but I do believe we can still save the mood.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Link pretended to think, throwing the cloth still in his hands away and backing away from Ghirahim. “I’m not so sure I really want it…”

“Oh, really?” Ghirahim was going to stab him in five different parts of his body.

“Yeah, I mean…” Link circled him, stopping by his back. “I already knew you had a nice ass.” He splayed his hand in Ghirahim’s cheek, and the audacity of it almost made the demon choke.

“And look,” Link kept going. “this seems big!” He reached around and encircled his hands over Ghirahim’s cock, pumping it a few times. Ghirahim moaned low, Link’s hand was warm and firm and how the hell was he doing this?

“And we all know you are famous for the things you can do with your tongue…”

Link went on his tip toes, staring at Ghirahim’s mouth. The second the demon tried to kiss him, though, the boy stepped back fast. “But I think I might just want to take a dive, you know? And since I’m not magical, I’ll have to take my clothes off the old fashioned way.”

He was already tiptoeing out of his boots, quickly taking off his gloves and unfastening his belt. “How about you just wait until I’m finished? After, if you’re a good demon, you can help me dry my hair.”

“You think I’ll wait, Hero?” Ghirahim raised his hand, ready to snap his fingers.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Link pointed his fingers, clearly amused. “No. Wait. No magic. You’ll have to play fair.” He took the opportunity to get rid of the rest of his clothes, and in a blink of an eye he was as naked as Ghirahim.

“Oh, so this is a game?” Ghirahim grinned.

“As if you’re not dying to play with me.” Link winked. “Let’s see how well do you swim, Demon Lord!”

With that, Link ran and jumped into the lake, just as Ghirahim had done it a few minutes before.

*

The boy was fast, Ghirahim had to give him that. With the Water Dragon’s powers and the fact Link had good stamina, he could swim way faster than Ghirahim, staying always ahead. Add up to the fact that the demon didn’t know the underwater caves of Lake Floria, and Link obviously had done that path before, and Ghirahim had no other option but to cheat – three caves after, he snapped his fingers and reached Link, pulling him over to the shore.

“Ah! You cheater!”

“Don’t look so surprised, Hero. Did you forget who you were playing with?” he pulled the boy down, lying him gently on the wet stone ground. He took his time watching freely Link’s naked wet body as the young man tried to get his breath back. Ghirahim opened his mouth to say something else, but Link was already reaching for his face and pulling him towards his mouth.

They were kissing.

The kiss was wet and tasted like the river’s water, and honestly, the feeling of it ended up being a bit of an afterthought to the way more urgent feeling of Link’s warm body touching his, the Hero’s cock getting harder under Ghirahim’s abs. But it was a great kiss nonetheless, if anything because of how closely Ghirahim could hear Link’s moans as he rubbed his own hard on against the boy’s thighs.

“Uhm, Link, wait.” Ghirahim hated himself, but he was nothing if not an gentleman. “It’s almost night. It’s going to get dark soon, don’t you want-”

“Fuck the dark.” Link kissed him again, viciously, biting his lips, both his legs crossing over Ghirahim’s back. “Fuck _in_ the dark. I don’t care, just keep going.”

Ghirahim kept going, rubbing his hard cock against the other’s, pulling at blond hair just to bite over his neck.

 

“You seem-” he had to stop, concentrating in pumping at Link’s cock with one hand while the other still pulled his hair. “You seem very sure about what you want. Am I reading you right?”

Ghirahim clarified his question by grabbing one of Link’s butt cheeks and spreading it, rubbing his hard cock on the boy’s crevice, made it all so ease by how Link raised his own legs, almost folded in two.

“What?” Link laughed, out of breath. “You thought I was going to challenge you over who’s the alpha male?”

“Don’t wish to be the alpha. Just want to fuck you senseless.” Ghirahim punctuated that by inserting the tip of his finger over Link’s hole, a small, careful movement.

“Sounds, oh goddess, sounds good to me.” Indeed, Link was biting his own lips, trying to sink more into the finger.

“Turn around, I want you on all fours.”

The man did exactly as asked, and what a vision he was: wet, blond hair sticking to his face, on all fours, ass stuck high, pink lips open in a silent “oh”.

Ghirahim kissed him again, hands roaming his body. He kissed his shoulders, his blades, and with a long lick he traced Link’s spine, finishing just over the boy’s crevice. He bit one cheek, and then the other, hard – Link’s scream of “Motherfucker!” almost threw his concentration away, but he had one purpose: parting those abused cheeks, he watched as the small opening winked open and closed.

He had to lick it.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck!” Link kept yelling, and that was a good thing, since Ghirahim’s mouth was a little too preoccupied to answer. “How did- fuck, how did I knew you were going to want that?”

Ghirahim stopped his licking in circles around the hole to answer: “Wishful thinking. You were probably imagining that since our first battle.” And immediately went back to the task at hand, pushing his tongue deep and without warning.

Link opened so prettily.

“You- fuck, I– you bet I was, so good, so deep…” Link’s moans stopped making sense after that, but Ghirahim didn’t want him coherent anyway. It became easier and easier to push his huge tongue deep, and finally to add a finger, that Link took graciously enough (by yelling “FUCK ME I’LL DIE” into the night) for Ghirahim to figure he was ready for the good stuff.

“No, no, no, where are you going?” Link asked the second Ghirahim’s tongue was out of him.

That made the demon stop. “I _was_ going to fuck you, but if you’d rather take my tongue, I’ll gladly continue.”

That was true. He could eat the boy the whole night, it wouldn’t be a burden.

“No, I…” Link moved, clearly uncomfortable, hands in fists over the rock. “I was just about to come, fuck.”

“Do you want to come on my tongue, baby?” Ghirahim asked against his ear, because he was nice like that.

“No, no, I want – I don’t know what I want, Ghirahim, I’m so close.”

Ghirahim laughed. Truly, the Goddess favorite was a gift to the world.

“Let’s make a deal. I’ll fuck you. If you like my cock, I’ll keep going and make you come on it like the slut you obviously are. If you prefer my tongue, I’ll go back to eating your pussy and make you come like the spoiled little bitch you might be. What do you say?”

“Anything, anything, just do something, for fucks sake.” Link closed his eyes, moving his hips against Ghirahim’s body.

Who could deny such an open invitation?

Ghirahim pushed his cock slowly inside the young man, filling him. He was much thicker than his own tongue and his finger, but he had left the boy wet enough it shouldn’t hurt much-

“Fuck, it hurts!” or not.

“Do you want me to take it out?”

“No! No! No, just keep going, keep fucking me, please.”

Slowly wasn’t helping, so Ghirahim slammed inside. Link yelled at that, hole contracting so hard it was painful even for Ghirahim, that couldn’t move, stuck balls deep inside his ass. But clearly it wasn’t all pain for Link – immediately the boy started to move his hips on his own, fucking back and forth on Ghirahim’s cock.

Every time he pulled his cock out he seemed to be dragging the man’s inside with it, but pushing in was getting easier and easier. Link still yelled a couple times, mostly when the demon pushed deep, but he also moaned and he also reached back to get a hand over Ghirahim’s ass, encouraging him to sink into his hole.

Ghirahim let Link guide the rhythm – in and out, in and out – for a while, but the blond couldn’t keep it going for much longer. Soon he was tired, unable to put the pressure he craved, and moaning brokenly for Ghirahim to fuck him. The demon had to take over them: pistoning fast as Link fell into his folded arms, leaving only his hips high as they were supported by Ghirahim’s bruising fingers.

The boy moaned too loud, and Ghirahim figured it was time – he went to grab for Link’s cock, pumping it. He slowed down his own movements, and ended up just pushing his cock as deep as it would go, pumping Link’s member increasingly faster, biting into the boy’s neck and whispering in his ear.

Finally Link reached his peak, spreading his legs wider and going all soft as hot come hit Ghirahim’s fingers. Ghirahim stood still a few moments more before he went back to his frantic penetration. He lifted one leg and kept kneeling on just one kneel – the movement made Link yell as if he was being stabbed, but Ghirahim was already pushing deeper and harder inside, pulling at the soft body beneath him with supernatural strength. And then Link’s hole was contracting around him, and it was all over: Ghirahim was coming inside him as if his soul was leaving by ways of his dick.

*  
“Damn, it’s night.”

“Well, dear, I’m not usually a big fan of rubbing it in, but I did told you it was getting darker.”

“You told me that? You never told me that, when did you tell me that?”

“Just before we fucked, did my dick erased your memory?”

“How are we going to get back, asshole?”

“We clearly are _not_ getting back through those caves at night. How am I the asshole if this was your idea?”

“So we’re going to sleep butt naked and wet?”

“It’s not that cold. We can light a fire with my magic. Besides, I’ll keep you warm.”

“But you had a fever just last night!”

“Link, I will bitch slap you if you don’t shut up right this moment.”

*

The next morning involved a lot of kissing and groping, and the walk of shame to put all other walks of shame to shame, filled with kiwkis and parellas that were all very much traumatized by their nakedness.

It also involved Link talking. Ghirahim should have known things were too good.

“I just wanted to tell you not to worry.” The boy said, and immediately Ghirahim started to worrying. “I get it, I won’t expect more than you have to give me. I get that you are in love, still, with Demise. I’m not trying to erase him or anything. We can have our fun, and this will be it.”

Ghirahim could only swallow around the taste of dirt and leaves those words left in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THEY DID IT.
> 
> What do you guys think about it? Personally, I love writing sex scenes but this one felt a little 'meh'. Maybe because there's no tentacles or nothing too kinky, just two dudes getting off. I love kinky shit.
> 
> My personal scene to write, AGAIN, was Zelda and Ghirahim's talk.
> 
> ANYWAY, please tell me whatchu think! I live and die for your comments. They make my day!
> 
> P.S.: Finally reached the prompt! If you guys can't remember, my prompt was the dialogue: "i can kick your ass" - "I know, babe"

**Author's Note:**

> First, references:
> 
> I have to say this work is heavily inspired in the AMAZING fiction of one taeminno.tumblr.com ; she wrote an amazing MinhoxTaemin fic called "Baby Blue Petals" (here: http://taeminno.tumblr.com/post/155094390780/are-you-still-taking-prompts-if-so-could-you) and she introduced me to the Hanahaki Disease, that I turned into a curse to better fit our purposes. So you can blame this angst-fest on her WONDERFUL writing and on my Shinee obsession.
> 
> The poem in the beginning is from Kobayashi Issa, and the title is from it. Hey, Japanese poet on a Japanese pairing!
> 
> As I so lovely like to quote (it's probably on all of my fics, it's on my dissertation as well), a adaptation from "a rose is a rose is a rose" from Gertrude Stein.
> 
> ****  
> Everyone, I'll be posting irregularly, as always, but I'll finish this for sure. I hope you like it, and ANY comments you have about it will make me so, so happy to read. This is such a small fandom and I truly write to hear of you guys. Even bad critics will make my day! So please read and comment, and thank you for your continuous support!
> 
> ****
> 
> To jinxed_gemstone:
> 
> Honestly, I'm so lucky I have amazing readers and FRIENDS who prompt me, and talking to you is always amazing. I loved writing for you, and even though I know this is not what you expected, I truly hope you enjoy it. I'm feeling really unsure about if you'll like it or not, but you liked my last angst and you said it would be okay if I wrote angst again! I truly want you to like it, but if it's not your cup of tea, please, just tell me about it!
> 
> The sentence you prompted me is coming, I swear. The scene will probably be on the second or third chapter. I'm sorry I gifted you with a multichapter fic! :(
> 
> ****  
> THANK YOU ALL FOR READING.  
> Please comment and have a great week! <3


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